


Fairy Tale Life

by Miko



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Married for the mission, Natasha doesn't know what to do with Feelings, steve is a hopeless romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faced with a choice between sending Natasha into a dangerous situation alone, or posing as her newly-wed husband, Steve knows there's only one thing he can do. Even if it means faking some things he never thought he'd do with anyone but his real best girl. Even if it means crossing a line he shouldn't be crossing when it comes to his feelings for Natasha. </p><p>Problem is, there's one more little detail about this mission Natasha 'forgot' to mention... and it might just change both their lives forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WTF this was supposed to be a short little cute twist on 'married for the mission', and it totally ran away with me. Ahahaha oh well, more for you to enjoy, I guess.
> 
> Also does anyone know why I can't get the 'additional tags' to let me keep some capital letters?

"I need your help," said the woman standing in his hallway, the moment Steve opened his apartment door.

He blinked at her a couple of times, trying to process that. Not that people didn't ask him for help all the time, because they did. Just, usually not total strangers at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning. When the knock had come at the door he'd been expecting a bible salesman or something, honestly.

Shaking his head, Steve looked at her a little more closely. Her face was attractive, as was her body - pretty, rather than a knock-out, though he had a feeling she could probably reach knock-out status if she really put some effort into it. Her hair was a rich shade of chestnut that probably looked auburn in the sun, and it fell to her shoulders in soft waves. She was looking at him expectantly, but he had absolutely no idea who she was.

"So can I come in or what?" she prompted, when he'd just stood there saying nothing for a few seconds. She didn't even wait for him to answer, just... slipped past him, somehow, which shouldn't have been possible since he was a big guy and it was a small doorway, but she made the move look totally natural.

"Huh. Not what I expected," she commented, standing with her hands on her hips as she scanned his apartment. "Though I should really know better by now than to have expectations about you, I suppose. You manage to surprise me on a shockingly regular basis."

"Ma'am? Do I know you?" Steve finally managed to say. He felt like he'd stepped into the middle of a play and someone had forgotten to hand him his script. God knew he'd met so many women in the last few years even he couldn't hope to keep track of them all, but the way she was talking seemed to imply a more intimate knowledge of him than anyone he didn't recognize ought to posses.

Now it was her turn to blink at him, as his words had clearly startled her. Her eyes were the vibrant green of grass on a summer’s day, and looking into them, he started to feel for the first time like maybe he _should_ know her. 

Then she started to laugh, a low, sensual chuckle. _That_ , he recognized.

"Natasha?" he exclaimed, staring at her again and trying to find some sign of the woman he'd worked with so often in the stranger standing in front of him now.

"I guess if I can fool you, I can probably fool just about anybody," she said, her smile widening into a smirk. "I told you, I needed to come up with some new covers. Of course that has to come with a new face. My old one was splashed across every website in the world. Makes it difficult to do undercover work."

When she put it that way, Steve felt foolish for not realizing that she would, of course, need more than just some fake paperwork to create a new identity for herself. Still, he couldn't be held entirely responsible for not recognizing her. Modern surgical techniques could do wonders beyond imagining, he knew that, but he hadn't realized they could literally remake somebody.

"I guess that explains why I haven't seen hide nor hair of you in a few months," he said, finally shutting the door. "You look, uh, different. Good, I mean, still good. But differently good." And now he was babbling again. He thought he'd gotten over that tendency to babble around a pretty dame, at least where she was concerned. 

Maybe it was a case of 'familiarity breeds contempt', and now she wasn't familiar anymore? Whatever the reason, he really needed to stop before he made an idiot of himself.

"What do you need my help with?" he prompted her, hoping that returning to the initial topic of conversation would be safer.

The way she quirked her eyebrow at him suggested she knew perfectly well that he was changing the subject, but had decided to humour him. Actually, the fact that he could read that much from just a tiny gesture was comforting, in a way. She might have changed her appearance, but she was still the woman he knew.

Flopping down into one of his chairs, she hooked her legs over the arm and sat mostly sideways in a position that indicated they might have removed her spine while they were altering her face. Then again, he'd always suspected she must have cat in her ancestry somewhere, the way she moved. 

"There's a tech corporation based in Seattle that I think might be a front for Hydra operations," she told him, swinging one foot in time with her words. "I managed to hack myself inside, but without Shield's resources, going undercover is a little trickier than it used to be. I need help keeping my cover intact, and also someone I can count on to realize if I'm late reporting in and come charging to my rescue."

"Backup, I can do," Steve said, settling into another chair. "Undercover, not so much. Why not ask Clint? He's way better at the cloak and dagger stuff than I am, you know that better than anyone." He'd have thought after her experience trying to help him lay low while they were running from Shield, she'd have realized how hopeless he was at that sort of thing.

"He's got his own shit to sort out right now," Nat waved a hand dismissively. "Not an option. It's not a difficult cover; you won't need to actually interact much with people, and it should be a role that comes naturally to you. I'm the one who will be working at the company, looking for evidence. The problem is, the scientist whose identity I hijacked is newly married, and it will look very suspicious to my employers if I don't arrive with husband in tow."

"Wait... what?" Steve stared at her. "You want me to pretend to be your husband?"

"White picket fence, charming little ranch house, the whole nine yards," Nat confirmed. "Newlyweds means no kids at least, so we don't have to find a way to borrow any, thank god. Natalyn's husband telecommutes to work, so you'd be at home during the day. Just play the happy hubby when I'm not at work, keep their suspicion off me - and come charging in to my rescue if I suddenly don't come home one night." 

Steve pondered the prospect. It wasn't that he didn't think he could do it, exactly. He liked Natasha well enough, and they'd spent longer periods together in tighter quarters. She was right that it was a simple enough role that even he ought to be able to handle it - he wouldn't really need to 'fake' caring for her at all.

And that was part of the problem, right there. They'd long ago tacitly acknowledged they were attracted to each other, and had both set it aside in their own ways, so they could work together easily. Her method seemed to be based mainly in her endless attempts to set him up on a date with someone else, along with the occasional teasing about his sex life. His was to just accept the fact that she was one of the most amazing women he knew, use that to fuel his respect for her, and flatly refuse to permit it to interfere in their relationship.

Allowing the attraction to come more obviously to the surface was going to make it harder for him to ignore it. He thought he might enjoy 'playing house' with her a little _too_ much.

Perhaps sensing the direction of his thoughts, she gave him a coaxing smile. "Just for a week," she promised. "If I haven't found evidence that they're Hydra after that long, it's because there's no evidence to find."

"Only in public, right?" Steve asked, wanting to be certain he understood what he was being asked to do before he agreed to it. "When you come home, and I guess maybe going out for dinner or something?"

"Well, that's the catch." Now she was hedging, trying to talk around the issue, and Steve immediately knew there was something he really wasn't going to like. 

It was his turn to raise a silent eyebrow at her - she knew perfectly well he would never go into an op without every bit of tactical information he could get, so there was no point in her trying to avoid giving it to him. 

Finally she sighed, and shrugged. "If it _is_ Hydra, they're going to be scrutinizing anyone trying to gain access to their ranks, to make certain it's not a Shield agent playing mole. Since that's exactly what I am, I can't afford even the smallest slip. I'll need to assume they have eyes on me at all times, not just when I'm standing in front of them, and that means we'll always be 'on' for the cameras."

Always? Steve felt himself blush a little as he considered the upshot of that. It would involve way more than just a few kisses at the door, then. "How, uh, convincing are we talking, here?"

"There are ways I can make a room secure against audio listening devices like parabolic mikes, so when the doors are closed it's mostly just a matter of making sure they don't get any telephoto shots of us doing something suspicious," she assured him. 

Okay, that wasn't as bad as he'd been thinking. If one slip of calling her 'Natasha' would be enough to endanger her life, there was no way he'd have agreed. And he'd had visions of being forced to fake the sounds of having sex with her, since they were supposed to be newlyweds. That was definitely not happening.

"Why me, Nat?" he wanted to know. "If it's such a risk for them to catch you in a slip, surely there have to be better people for the job."

"Nobody I trust enough to spend that much time with, that intimately," she told him. Her smile faded, her eyes darkening with something that might have been regret, though it was hard to be certain. "One night? Sure, I can fake that with anybody, no problem. I don't ever need to be vulnerable. But this is a whole week; I'm going to need to sleep, for one thing. The list of possibilities is pretty much comprised of you and Clint - and honestly, in some ways, for this job I'd rather have you."

It wasn't often he got to see Natasha being truly serious, but this was definitely one of those rare moments. Moreover, Steve was flattered and touched that she trusted him that much. 

He didn't ask if she was sure, because she wouldn't have come to him if she wasn't. Sighing, he shook his head. "Well, I'm certainly not letting you go in without backup. So long as you're not actually expecting to take me to Vegas and get married 'for the realism' or something."

Her answering smile was brilliant, and all the reward he could ask for, in its own way. Sitting up, she fished in her pocket for a moment, then tossed something small at him.

He caught it automatically, and knew what it was even before he opened his fist to look. The feel of a ring was unmistakeable, and when he did look he saw a plain but polished gold band that looked like it would fit him perfectly. When had she gotten his ring size? Hell, Shield had probably taken every conceivable measurement they could of his body before he'd even woken up, and likely a few that shouldn't be conceivable just in case.

Glancing up, he saw that she was looking at him expectantly. "If you're waiting for me to start crooning over 'the precious', you're going to be sitting there for a while," Steve said dryly.

He'd thought that he'd be the one making a reference _she_ wouldn't recognize, for a change, but her smile turned impish. "When did you see that movie?"

"They made a _movie_?" Steve blurted out. Books had been a good companion to him as a kid, and later in the lonely days after Bucky had signed up and gone for training, but before Steve had been accepted by the SSR. He'd haunted the New York Public Library like a ghost, and he'd read The Hobbit not long after it hit the shelves in 1937. Steve had no idea it was still popular enough for them to make a movie about it. Then again, they seemed to make a movie out of damn near everything, these days.

Natasha blinked, then laughed ruefully. "Well, I know what we're going to spend at least one night doing this week. Go pack a bag, we've got a plane to catch."

"Right now?" It seemed she was bound and determined to keep him off balance, today. Not that she wasn't usually, but she was putting extra effort into it.

"Why? You got a hot date tonight?" she wanted to know, smirking at him again. "I can push it back a day if it means you finally getting some..."

"No, I just expected a little more warning," he sighed. "Don't ask me why, it's not as if I've never worked with you before." Impulsive was her middle name, he was sure of it. Not that she couldn't come up with damn fine plans, and she was as capable of sticking to them as she was of improvising when everything went to hell. It was just that she could make plans so fast, it sometimes seemed like a snap decision instead.

Then again, he'd heard people say the same about his tactical abilities, so maybe that was why they made such a good team.

Turning the ring over in his fingers, he studied it for a moment more, oddly hesitant to put it on. It was just a piece of jewellery, when it came right down to it. It wasn't real, it didn't mean anything. And yet, the symbolism was inescapable. He'd always assumed, if he ever put a ring like this on, he wouldn't be taking it off again.

Steeling himself, he pushed it over the third finger on his left hand. It was a little snug over the second knuckle, enough to keep it secure but not so much that he'd worry about getting it off again. It fit perfectly, in other words. As if it was made for him.

When he looked up again, he saw Natasha was slipping her own double set of rings on. Her wedding ring was a plain band to match his, and the engagement ring was a solitary diamond, elegant and classic. Exactly the sort of ring he'd have bought, if he'd ever had the girl to buy one for, probably.

"Not bad," Natasha declared, studying first her own rings, then catching his hand and looking at his. "At least we're newlyweds, so we don't have to worry about finding rings with an appropriate amount of wear on them. Now, get that bag packed, we lift off in three hours."

Steve nodded and tugged his hand free. Turning to head into the bedroom to grab some clothes and his gear, he couldn't stop staring at the glint of gold on his left hand. It was going to be a week full of doing things he'd always expected to do with his wife, if he ever had one. He'd just have to get used to it.

Hopefully at some point, he’d shake the sick feeling that he was going to seriously regret this.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a car waiting for them at the Sea-Tac airport, stuffed with packing boxes. Most were full, but one that was obviously intended to hold picture frames was empty and a perfect fit for his shield, and another had just enough room left for the rest of his combat gear. As soon as they were closed Natasha taped them up, and they looked just like all the others, ready for move-in day.

Natasha drove, because she already knew where they were going. Steve absently memorized the route she took, and spent most of the drive trying to get 'in character'. Natasha had given him a dossier with the bios for their cover on the plane, and he'd read it three times, but just knowing his pretend name and birthday wasn't enough. He had to _be_ Stefan Robinson, married to Natalyn Scott just a few days before, fresh off their honeymoon.

Steve assumed she'd manipulated the identity she'd stolen to change the given names, or else it was a hell of a coincidence. Either way he was glad, because it meant he could still call her 'Nat' and wouldn't have to remember to respond to something that wasn't at least related to 'Steve'. The fewer opportunities he had to mess this up in some way, the better off they’d both be.

As she pulled into the driveway of a little house in the suburbs, Steve could see more boxes piled inside through the windows, as well as a few pieces of furniture. Presumably the idea was that movers had delivered the majority of it earlier, and now he and Natasha were bringing the last, more delicate or treasured items. They'd have to spend some time pretending to unpack and settle in, but a week was a short enough time that it wouldn't surprise anyone if they hadn't finished the job. Most of the boxes were probably empty window dressing.

"Well honey, here we are," she said, her voice softer and sweeter than usual. Her smile matched her voice, the expression of an innocent young woman, but the edge of mischief in her eyes was more like the usual Natasha. "Our new home. Isn't it beautiful?"

All right, this was it. He just had to remember to treat her as though she really was his best girl, and all of this was real. "Not half as beautiful as you, doll," he replied, and he saw the shine in her eyes get brighter with amusement, presumably at the pet name. What, she thought he wouldn't be the type? Or did she figure he'd hesitate and stumble over it? No, probably it was just old-fashioned. Maybe he should have looked up some modern terms of endearment or something. Too late now.

Climbing out of the car, he stretched, and used the movement to cover a quick survey of the area. It was an older neighbourhood, with lots of mature trees and bushes. Lots of places for someone spying on them to hide, in other words. No way to easily spot a peeping tom. At least it was a through street, not a cul-de-sac, and there was an intersection nearby in both directions. A glance at the backyard showed no fence, too. If they did have to make a run for it, they'd have plenty of options.

He started to move to the back of the car, intending to load up on boxes to carry inside. "Whoa, cowboy, hold up there," Natasha said as she climbed out of the car. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I assumed we needed to get all this inside," Steve replied, confused by the question. He was even more puzzled when she gave him a smug little smile in response.

"You've got something else to carry inside on the first trip," she said, and gave him a pointed look. It took him a few seconds, but then the other shoe finally dropped.

They were newlyweds. This was their new home. Steve hadn't exactly been to a lot of weddings, but some things you just seemed to learn without ever actually knowing how or when you learned them, and the tradition of carrying the bride across the threshold was one of those things.

It just went to show that he still hadn't properly gotten himself into the mindset he needed to be in. He was thinking of her playing the part of his wife, not _as_ his wife. Damn it, he needed to be better than this, or Natasha's life could be in danger.

"See? Now what did I ever do before you came along, doll," he said, shaking his head and moving to stand next to her, slipping one arm around her waist in what he hoped looked like a familiar gesture. "I'd forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on."

She chuckled softly, and he prayed that meant he'd done a decent job of improvising an explanation for his forgetfulness. 

Tugging her closer, he leaned down to get one arm behind her legs, then scooped her up, holding her sideways across his chest. She was heavier than she looked, he knew that from other times he'd needed to carry her - she might be slender, but her body was solid muscle. Still, it was no effort for his enhanced strength, and in fact he had to remember to grunt a little as he lifted, just in case anyone was watching.

"You're so sweet," she said, as he stepped through the doorway, careful not to knock her head or feet against the jamb. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she leaned in for a kiss, still smiling.

Kissing her was far from a hardship at the worst of times, and at least this time he was a little more prepared for it. He kissed back, feeling his heartbeat quicken as she slipped her tongue into his mouth and teased his.

When she pulled away again, her smile had grown heated. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been practicing with someone other than me," she ribbed him, and he saw a spark of her usual saucy attitude behind the sweetness.

"What, you don't think I got enough practice on the honeymoon?" he replied, shifting to set her gently on her feet in the foyer. "If I'd known you were insatiable, sweetheart, I might have reconsidered this whole thing."

That made her laugh, and it sounded genuine. Then again, she was more than a good enough actress to make absolutely anything she wanted sound genuine. Still, he thought - hoped - she was letting some of her real reactions through, since the part she was playing wasn't _that_ different from how she acted most of the time. It would make it easier on him, trying to make his supposed romantic interest in her seem real. 

"Much as I hate to say it, any more practicing is going to have to wait until we get some of these boxes inside and opened," she declared with a put-upon sigh and a bit of a pout. "Otherwise we're going to be eating with our hands and sleeping on the floor, tonight." 

Despite her words, she hooked a hand around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss, lingering over it like he was some kind of delicacy. Steve couldn't quite stop himself from groaning, and hoped she would chalk it up to his efforts to play up to any potential audience. Even worse, when she finally broke the kiss and leaned back, she licked her lips, clearly savouring the taste.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he muttered under his breath, and this time he was certain her chuckle was one hundred percent real. She always had loved teasing him far too much.

It took them the rest of the day to get the house into a state where it was at least livable, though they still had a long way to go before they'd be done. As the sun set Natasha called for pizza delivery, and they sat side by side on the steps to the back porch as they ate. She was surprisingly cuddly, leaning against him and even nudging his elbow until he lifted his arm, allowing her to snuggle right up to him.

The only comfortable place to put his arm was around her shoulders, tucking her even closer to him, but it wasn't like he minded. She was curvy and soft in all the right places, and even though they'd both been sweating over the unpacking she smelled damned good. She was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts that seemed scandalously tiny to him, but were probably downright modest by today's standards. Her smooth legs seemed to go on forever when she stretched them out, and he could feel her body warmth through the thin material of their shirts. 

"This is nice," he surprised himself by saying. Then he decided he might as well run with it, since it was 'in character' for him to be enjoying this. "You feel really good against me. I think I could just sit like this forever and be happy."

She made a noise he'd never heard from her before, a kind of happy humming sound that reminded him of a cat's purr. "Can't say I'm finding it a horrible experience, myself," she admitted, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his collar, and he gave in to the urge to turn his head and inhale the fruity scent of her shampoo.

That made her laugh again. "Are you sniffing me?" she exclaimed. "Checking to see if my deodorant has worn off yet? Because I'm sure it has, I've been sweating all day." 

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments, doll. You smell almost as good as you feel. But if you’re worried about it, why don’t you go on ahead upstairs and wash up before bed. I’ll clean up and do the rounds, make sure the house is locked up tight.”

If he lingered over the task, Natasha should be able to get the blinds closed and her electronic counter-measures activated before he made it to the bedroom, and they’d be able to drop the act for the night. There was only the one bedroom, and he couldn’t exactly sleep on the couch without looking suspicious, but Steve figured he’d just doss down on the floor. He’d certainly slept in rougher places, and it might even be more comfortable for him, depending on how soft the mattress was.

“Sounds like a plan,” she agreed, and leaned in for another kiss. This was the hottest kiss yet, as she flicked her tongue over the roof of his mouth and even caught his lower lip between her teeth. Steve did his best to give as good as he got, and might have gotten carried away, because when he finally broke the kiss he found he'd wrapped his hands around her waist and actually pulled her half into his lap.

Thankfully, she seemed to take it at face value, though a certain twinkle in her eyes promised she might be teasing him about it later in private. “Don’t take too long coming to bed, but don’t rush, either," she said. “I want a chance to get ready for you, hot stuff.” Then she brushed another, thankfully quicker kiss against his lips before she stood and headed back into the house.

Steve deliberately spent as long as possible gathering up the trash from their meal, then going around inside the house and checking that every door and window was locked. Not that the locks provided would have stopped a determined racoon, let alone a trained spy, but Steve had to work with what was available. It would definitely look suspicious if the first thing he did to his new house was upgrading the locks to something top of the line, though honestly he was surprised Natasha felt secure enough to be willing to sleep in a place this vulnerable.

Well, it was unlikely Hydra would break into their house on the first night, with no reason yet to suspect she was a mole. And she had him to act as a living shield in case anything did happen. It should be fine.

When he finally made his way into the bedroom, he'd expected she'd be done cleaning up and getting ready for bed. He'd also expected the blinds to be drawn, allowing them to avoid the need to pretend to follow through on their earlier teasing. The moment he walked through the door, he knew he'd overlooked one very important thing.

There _weren't_ any blinds yet.

Steve stared at the bare window in dismay, trying to figure out what he was supposed to do now. How had he missed this when they were unpacking the bedroom linens? How had _Natasha_ missed this? "Uh, dollface?" he called, assuming she was still in the bathroom since he didn't see her anywhere. He didn't know if she'd set up the counter-measures yet, so he figured it was best to stay in character. "We planning on grandstanding for the neighbours?"

“I don’t think ‘planning’ is quite the right verb,” Natasha sighed. She sounded exasperated, and more like herself than she had all day. Judging by the direction of her voice she was behind the door of the little walk-in closet, and the rustle of fabric suggested she was changing for bed. “The curtains were supposed to be installed before we got here, I was very clear on that in my instructions. When I find out who was responsible for setting this up, I’m going to have strong words to say.”

She poked her head around the door, and gave him a sympathetic-looking smile. “I’m sorry, Steve. We can go out and buy some blinds first thing tomorrow, I promise. For tonight, well, it’s plausible that we’re too exhausted and sore after moving all those boxes to have the energy left for sex. We don’t have to do anything more intimate than cuddle a little before we sleep.”

He assumed from her words that she’d already done whatever it was she needed to do in order to block any listening devices. They’d still have to be careful; it would be just their luck to have a spy watching them who knew how to lip-read. But Steve had his back to the window, and the closet wasn’t visible from outside the house, so they were fine for the moment.

Frustrated and upset, he raked a hand through his hair, glancing back at the bed. It was a decent size, bigger than anything he’d ever slept in before, but the idea of sharing it with her was still distressing. The closest he’d ever come to sleeping with a woman was... well, with her, actually, on a few missions where they’d had to hole up, and taken turns sleeping while the other stood watch in the same room. That was not at all the same thing as sleeping in the same bed with her.

‘Casual intimacy’ was one of those modern concepts Steve still wasn’t all that great at handling. He’d always assumed that if and when he finally got around to sleeping with a dame, it would be with someone special and cherished. Not necessarily his wife, he wasn’t a saint to be able to wait until marriage for everything, but it would be a landmark kind of thing.

This mission was pretty much designed to be full of him doing things that he’d always thought he’d do with his best girl some day. He’d accepted that - mostly - and was determined to deal with it, but this was something he hadn’t been prepared for.

“Steve?” Natasha sounded concerned, probably because he hadn’t said anything. “Are you okay?”

“I...” His voice trailed off into nothing, the words sitting like a frozen lump in his throat, as he turned back and got his first good look at her.

She’d opened the door of the closet, allowing him to see all of her. And damn, there was a lot to see. What she was wearing was, technically, covering all the important parts. He’d seen women wearing _far_ less, especially on modern beaches, but having sheer fabric and see-through lace covering a couple of extra square inches of skin actually seemed to make the whole outfit _more_ titillating, not less.

Back in the day Steve had seen his fair share of scantily clad women. He’d worked with a chorus line for months, and he’d attended art classes where women posed nude. The pin-up photos the boys at the front traded around sometimes showed women in outfits nearly as scandalous as what she was wearing now.

She put every damned one of them to shame. They might as well have been a bunch of hags, compared to her.

Her face might be different, but her body was still familiar. She still had the scars he knew about, and a few more in places he hadn’t seen before. The muscles beneath her pale skin were toned and lithe, powerful and graceful, just like her. Her chestnut hair spilled in soft waves over her shoulders, long enough now that even with that hint of curl the tips brushed the low neckline of her top.

Trying to swallow, Steve almost coughed instead because his mouth had gone so dry. He was pretty sure his cheeks were burning, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Slowly, her expression went from concerned to smug. She struck up a pose, one arm raised over her head to brace against the doorway, body curved in a way that highlighted all her assets. “Like what you see, soldier?”

From somewhere, Steve dredged up the willpower to close his eyes. It didn’t help much, because he was pretty sure that image of her was going to be stamped into his mind’s eye for a long time to come. “You’re determined not to make this easy for me, aren't you,” he asked, and couldn’t even be embarrassed that his voice came out hoarse.

She gave that throaty chuckle again. “Well, I am supposed to be your new wife. Did you expect me to be wearing flannel pyjamas instead of a teddy?”

“I _expect_ that if you were actually my wife and tried to parade around in front of a giant, uncovered window dressed in _that_ , I’d probably put you over my knee,” Steve retorted without thinking about it. When his mind caught up to his mouth, he exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“You’d spank me in front of the window? Wow, you really are determined to give the neighbours a show,” she said, and when he opened his eyes again she was smirking at him. “I had no idea you were so hardcore, Rogers. But if that’s what you’re into...”

“ _Natasha_ , can you please be serious for one fucking minute?” The profanity slipped out unintentionally, but Steve thought he’d more than earned the right to a little cussing.

It did at least succeed in shocking her out of her teasing mood. Natasha had probably heard him swear more than anyone else alive, given the hellish situations they regularly ended up in together, but it wasn’t a frequent occurrence and she knew it meant he was losing patience.

“Sorry,” she apologized, and she seemed genuinely contrite. “Would it help if we get under the covers and turn out the lights?”

It was a good suggestion, and Steve knew they should do exactly that. Except if she was wearing something like _that_ , it would probably look strange if he went to bed wearing anything at all. And honestly, even if they’d both been fully covered, it all seemed like just one step too far for him.

“God, Nat, I don’t know if I can do this,” he muttered, feeling horribly like he was letting her down. “This was a mistake, I never should have agreed to come with you.”

“I’ll change, if you want.” Her brow was furrowed as she looked back at him, her eyes flicking over his face like she was trying to read his soul through his expression. “I figured it would be better to put on a show since the curtains aren’t here, but I brought less revealing things.”

“It’s not just the damned negligee, Natasha.” Steve bit back a groan, trying not to let his imagination run away picturing what else she might emerge wearing. ‘Less revealing’ still covered a hell of a lot of ground, and pretty much anything she thought was appropriate to the situation was going to be a strain on his sense of propriety.

“It’s... _everything_ ,” he continued, shaking his head. “All of this, I thought I could handle it but it’s been one thing after another, and I can’t... I just can’t.”

“What can’t you do?” Her voice was gentle, and she reached out to rest her hand lightly on his arm. “Steve, talk to me. I can get you through this, but only if I know where we’re going wrong.”

How the hell was he supposed to explain without sounding like a naive idiot? Steve’s pride was still stinging from her questioning whether he’d kissed anyone since 1945, and this was going to make him look a thousand times more pathetic. Still, trying to tell her anything but the truth would be counterproductive, so he resigned himself to looking like a fool.

“So much of this is exactly the sort of thing I pictured doing some day with a special girl,” he said, his voice rough with restrained emotion. “You only get one first time to do some things, and I wanted it to be with the right partner.”

“First time?” Sure enough, that was the bit she latched onto. She blinked up at him, and her expression was caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “First time for what, sleeping with someone? What happened to ‘I’m 95, not dead’? Are you seriously telling me you’re a virgin?”

“ _No_.” The denial came out sharper than he’d meant it to, and that probably wasn’t helping to plead his case for him, but Steve was really tired of people thinking that. “Hell, Nat, I’ve had broads flinging themselves at me since the day I stepped out of the SSR lab, pretty much. I’m no saint, I didn’t always resist temptation.” 

He’d wanted to know what it felt like, everything that he’d always thought he would never get to experience, back when girls wouldn’t even look at a skinny little punk like him. It turned out that ‘what it felt like’ was a few minutes of pleasure followed by a sort of hollow shame; gratifying on a physical level but emotionally unsatisfying. He assumed - he _hoped_ \- that it would be different with the right girl, but he’d never gotten the chance to find out.

“None of them were ever serious,” he continued, feeling his cheeks flame again. “Never lasted longer than it took to hook up, you know? Sex is one thing. Sleeping in a bed together, that’s intimacy. It’s different.” He shrugged. “You only get one first time, and this isn’t how I wanted mine to be.”

The expression on Natasha’s face was one of blank incomprehension. What part of that was so difficult for her to follow? The idea that he wasn’t the innocent paragon of virtue some of his fans painted him as? But she’d seemed genuinely shocked at the thought that he might be a virgin. 

“What’s so special about ‘first times’, anyway?” she asked him after a long moment of silence. “I mean, if you think about it, the first time you do anything is probably going to be one of the worst experiences you have. You don’t know what you’re doing, you’ve never had any practice, it’s going to be awkward and probably unsatisfying.”

The words grated on him, and Steve might have growled under his breath. He held on to his temper with an effort, but she wasn’t making it easy. “Yeah, okay, I’m old-fashioned. You don’t have to mock me about it.”

“What?” Her surprise appeared sincere, and she shook her head. “No, I’m not mocking you. It’s a serious question. Why does everyone put such emphasis on things like their first kiss or their first date or their first sexual experience? I’ve never understood.”

A serious question? How could it be? It seemed like the sort of thing that should be self-evident. Steve frowned, fumbling to put it all into words.

“The first time is the one you’re going to remember,” he finally settled on. “Sure, you’ll probably have plenty of better experiences eventually. But most of them won’t stand out particularly. The first, that only happens once, and it sets the bar for every other experience.”

“By that standard you’d almost want your first time to suck,” she pointed out, mouth quirking in something that might have been intended as a smirk but didn’t quite make it. “That way everything else will seem good in comparison.”

“But the idea that you’re comparing everything else to it just emphasizes the fact that you’ll always _think_ of it,” Steve insisted. “It’s one of the few things where you have some level of choice about something that will stick with you the rest of your life. What was your first time like?”

For some reason, the question made her laugh, but she sounded bitter instead of amused. “For me it all would have been part of my training, not some kind of special experience I’d want to cherish. I can’t say any of it particularly stands out in my mind.”

That made him feel like a bit of a heel. Steve knew the KGB had trained her from a young age, but sometimes he forgot just what that really meant in terms of her life experiences. She’d never gone to high school, never worried about whether the boy she liked would ask her to the dance, never been allowed to savour her first kiss. Small wonder she didn’t understand the emphasis he was putting on it.

“I’m sorry, I’m being an ass,” he said. “And putting you in danger while I’m at it. Well, even newlyweds can get in a fight, I guess, so hopefully I haven’t blown your cover too badly.” He needed to pull up his britches and stop whining before he got them both killed. So what if he had to fake enjoying his first time sleeping with a woman? That was still a damned sight better than her experiences had been, and wallowing in it was just feeling sorry for himself.

“No.” Natasha turned away from him, arms coming up to wrap around her own waist, as if she was hugging herself for comfort. She seemed perturbed, even upset. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I never should have asked you to do this. I was being selfish, I didn’t even think about how it might affect you.”

“You said there wasn’t anyone else you trusted enough to fill the role,” Steve reminded her. He moved to stand behind her, placing both hands on her shoulders, trying to urge her to lean back against him. She resisted, holding herself rigid. “That means a lot to me, Nat. And here I am spoiling it all. You need to finish this mission, and I’m damned well going to help you do it.”

“There is no mission.” Her voice was sharp as she pulled away from him, and the look in her eyes when she spun to face him was almost violent. “I lied to you, Rogers. There was never any Hydra front. I set this whole thing up because I wanted to know what it was like to experience normal life, just for a little while. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“What?” Steve stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. No mission? She’d set him up? “What the _hell_?"

“That’s the real reason I couldn’t ask Clint,” she told him. “He’d have seen through me in a heartbeat, he knows me too damned well. And honestly, he’d be a lousy husband, even if he was trying to play along.”

“You decided you wanted to try living as a normal person, so you tricked me into playing your husband?” he asked, still half certain he was misunderstanding. “And you thought that would _work_? You know what a horrible liar I am, you had to know I’d be stiff and awkward the whole damned time. Why didn’t you just _ask_?”

“Are you kidding me? Like you’d have said yes?” Natasha gave him an incredulous look. Biting her lip, she reached up to pass a hand over her face. A thin film peeled away, shimmering, and revealing the features Steve was familiar with. Apparently she still had some access to Shield’s tech. He found he was oddly grateful she hadn’t really changed her face, but he was too angry with her at the moment to examine his reasons for feeling that way. 

Her expression when she looked up again was more vulnerable than he could remember seeing her since the day they’d found out they’d been working for Hydra all along. “I knew it wouldn’t be a perfect experience, but you’d have tried your best and you’re a sweet, romantic guy by nature. I figured that would mean you’d probably do a decent job despite yourself. And this way, I wouldn’t be leading you on. We both know we’ve been dancing around each other pretty much since the day we met, and I didn’t want to screw up the balance we’ve achieved by fucking you over.”

“You don’t think this could have messed us up anyway?” he demanded. “You think I could have spent a whole week pretending to be in love with you, pretending to be _intimate_ with you, and walk away with nothing changed between us?”

“Just because I believe love is a fairy tale doesn’t mean I want to break your heart, Steve,” she said. “A week playing the part of my husband might have caused some trouble in the short term, but not nearly as much as if you’d thought any part of it might be real.”

Well, she had him there. That didn’t mean he was in any way happy about the way she’d deceived him. He trusted her, and maybe that was stupid - she’d as much as told him it was stupid, several times. But after what they’d been through together when they’d found out Shield was rotten to the core, Steve didn’t think there was anybody he trusted more than her.

And now she’d betrayed that trust. She’d used him in the basest way, and made him think he couldn’t refuse because to do so would mean sending her into danger alone, something she _knew_ he would never willingly do.

“Steve...” Natasha sounded genuinely distressed, and that just pissed Steve off further. What right did she have to feel like the injured party, here?

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his voice cold. “Just don’t, Nat. If you value our friendship at all, don’t you dare try to justify your actions, or apologize ‘for hurting me’ instead of for what you’ve done wrong, or any of the other dozen options for weaselling your way out of this that are running through your head right now.” 

She actually flinched, and a tiny part of him regretted the harsh words, but he knew if he let this conversation go any further one or both of them was going to say something that couldn’t be taken back later. Steve’s temper was right on the edge of breaking, and if he blew up he could ruin things between them forever.

He didn’t want that, so he needed to get the hell out of there and give himself a chance to cool off. “I’m going out,” he told her, turning on his heel. “I need to think.”

At the door he paused and looked back over his shoulder, because he had a nasty feeling that if he walked out, she’d be gone by the time he returned. Natasha had a bad habit of running from the things she didn’t want to deal with, and he didn’t want to become one of those things. “Don’t leave before I get back,” he ordered her. “This is not over, understand?”

For a long moment she said nothing, just staring at him wide-eyed, but he glared at her until she finally gave a tiny nod in response. Hoping that meant she really would still be there when he returned, Steve slammed the bedroom door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

The evening air was brisk, but it felt good as Steve stepped outside the house. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he picked a direction and started walking, intending to just keep going until he’d sorted out his own conflicting thoughts and emotions. Movement always helped him work things through, and he didn’t have half a dozen spare heavy bags to punch into oblivion, so walking was just going to have to do the job.

Steve felt like an idiot, especially as he reviewed the last day and realized there were plenty of signs that something was off from the very beginning. Not only had she come to the person she herself had described as ‘one of the worst undercover operatives she’d ever seen’; if she’d had to change her features that drastically in order to be able to be safe going in as a mole, why would she want one of the most publicly recognizable former members of Shield as her backup? Any Hydra agent sent to check up on her cover story would have recognized him in a heartbeat.

How could she have played him like this? And she’d thought lying to him was the _better_ way to handle it? He knew she sometimes had trouble remembering that she didn’t always have to lie about everything to everyone, but he’d thought she was past this kind of deliberate manipulation with him. The only reason she’d ever been able to hoodwink him with such a flimflam story was because he’d trusted that she wouldn’t lie to him about something like that.

Was he that much of a fool? Had he just been kidding himself that he could trust her to any extent? She’d damn near said as much to him, at one point. Maybe he really was in the wrong business.

Frustrated, Steve punched a concrete retaining wall as he passed by it. There was a sharp cracking sound, and some of the concrete disintegrated beneath the impact, leaving a dent. God knew what the locals would make of it come morning, but he didn’t care at the moment.

Surely, it couldn’t _all_ have been a lie. Natasha was probably the best actress Steve had ever met, but he was positive her reaction to Fury’s ‘death’ had been genuine grief. It was one of the most real emotions he’d ever seen from her. Likewise, her shock at discovering that she’d traded in the KGB for Hydra had been too extreme to be an act, he was certain of it.

And when she’d asked him then, if he would have trusted her to save him if their positions were reversed... she’d been braced for a ‘no’, he’d seen it in her expression. She’d fully expected that he wouldn’t be able to, and the look in her eyes had been that of someone who’d been lonely for so long, she’d forgotten what it was like not to be alone.

Steve had told her that he trusted her, and he’d meant it. The way her eyes shone when he’d said it, with relief and gratitude... could she really have faked that?

Maybe. Hell, he just didn’t know any more.

Realizing that he was starting to breathe hard, Steve took stock of himself and was surprised to discover that at some point he’d stopped walking and started running. He wasn’t exactly dressed for it, and he didn’t know the neighbourhood at all, but it felt good so he decided to just go with it. He needed the exertion to get his blood flowing and his adrenalin up, putting his mind into tactical mode.

Coming at this problem head on wasn’t doing him any good. Trying to figure out whether Natasha was a good enough actress to fool him was an exercise in futility, because there was no way to be sure of his answer. Anyway if he was being honest, the answer was probably ‘yes’. Just because she _could_ , it didn’t necessarily follow that she _had_ , but he couldn’t confirm or deny it either way.

He needed to sneak up on the situation from another direction. What was her motivation for doing this? Because she wanted to experience ‘normal’ life for a week? And that was worth the risk of shattering Steve’s trust in her? Why not just take a damned vacation, that was ‘normal’ enough.

She’d chosen him, specifically, both because she trusted him enough to be vulnerable around him, and because she thought he was ‘sweet and romantic’ enough that he would go the distance to play the role even though she knew he’d feel awkward. That suggested it was the sweet and romantic part that she was interested in experiencing.

Because she’d never had that, before. Not for real - well, for some values of ‘real’. Had she ever gone on a date that wasn’t part of a mission? Steve tried to remember if he’d heard her mention something like that, and couldn’t. He knew she didn’t have anyone special, but she was always so secretive about all the details of her life that he hadn’t thought anything of not hearing about mundane things like dates she might have gone on. Plus, she’d spent so much time focusing on his love life, it had sort of monopolized their opportunities for casual conversation.

Was that why she’d done it? To keep him distracted and prevent him from asking about her in return? Part of the reason, maybe. 

There might have been some element of her trying to live vicariously through him, as well. After all, as she’d said herself, she might think love was an impossible dream, but she also knew he very much believed in it. Perhaps she’d wanted to see how ‘normal’ people did it, so she’d tried to set him up with someone so she could watch him go through the emotions and study the whole thing.

That plan hadn’t worked, so she’d attempted something more direct, instead. Ask the most romantic person she knew to pretend to be her newlywed husband for a week, and see how he handled it. That way she could find out what it felt like, without any risk to her own heart.

It wasn’t just that she didn’t believe in love, either. What had her life really been like, what kind of childhood had she had, that she’d needed to ask him why first times were considered important? Had she ever had _anyone_ show her real affection, of any kind?

If the closest she thought she could ever come to experiencing love was to fake a mission and watch him pretend... God, when he thought about it that way, it was damn near the most heartbreaking thing Steve had ever encountered.

The feel of the air around him changed, the wind blowing harder and carrying with it the salt tang of the ocean. Up ahead, Steve could just make out the glint of moonlight on water, and he altered his course towards it. Running on a beach would be perfect; he could kick off these useless shoes before they literally fell apart on him, and the resistance of the sand would help make him work harder.

For a few minutes Steve refused to think of anything except the splash of the freezing surf against his legs, the sting in the soles of his feet as they slapped against the wet sand, and the burn of brine scented air in his lungs while he ran. He had to keep an eye out for driftwood and the occasional sharp rock or piece of shell, but for the most part he could just focus on running and let the steady pace lull him into a calmer state of mind.

Finally he let his thoughts return to Natasha. Most of his anger had faded, now. He was pretty sure she really had been trying not to hurt him by lying to him. The fact that she was completely wrong about her approach didn’t make it a betrayal, just another indication that she truly didn’t understand where he was coming from about this kind of thing, why it was important to him. Why it was important to anyone.

Natasha wanted to know what it was like to live a normal life, to have someone care about her and shower her with affection and generally treat her like somebody worth loving, instead of an object or an asset. Steve found that he really wanted her to know what it was like, too. Maybe he’d never had a chance to really be with Peggy, and hadn’t had much luck with dames before her, but at least he’d had his mom and Bucky. He’d always known he was loved and cherished. He couldn’t imagine living without knowing that feeling.

Could he do it, though? Could he go back there and do that for her, without screwing things up between them completely? Could he do it without falling for her and causing more problems than he solved?

Steve already knew it wouldn’t be any difficulty to act like he loved her, because he did. He wasn’t _in_ love with her, and that was the danger, because that was the part that could change if he let this go too far. 

Slowing his pace at last, Steve jogged for a while, then slowed further to a walk, and finally to a stop. Standing in the middle of the empty beach, staring out at the vast expanse of the ocean, he searched his own heart and soul.

Should he do it?

Would it be worth the potential heartache?

Could he live with himself if it all went wrong, and he messed up one of the best things in his life?


	4. Chapter 4

The scent of bacon and coffee drew Natasha from a restless sleep. It was unexpected and out of place, and therefore alarming to her subconscious mind. She didn’t move, careful to keep her breathing slow as if she was still asleep, and tried to figure out where she was and what was going on.

The mattress she was lying on was firm, but not uncomfortable. The sheets and pillows had that starchy scent she associated with new linens, right out of the box. If there was anyone else in the room with her, they were doing a damned good job of staying silent, because she couldn’t hear anyone breathing but herself.

Cautiously she opened her eyes, and found she was still in the master bedroom of the house she’d rented for this ‘mission’. Memory of the night before returned, and Natasha groaned as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

She’d fucked up royally, and made a mess she wasn’t sure she could actually clean up. Of all people, she knew how badly Steve handled betrayal of any kind. His trust wasn’t easy to earn in the first place, and once broken, was nearly impossible to regain. 

Judging by the faint sounds she could hear from the kitchen, he must have returned to the house. That honestly surprised her, though on second thought it wasn’t like he’d have just flown back to DC and left her there. For one thing, his shield was still packed in one of the boxes.

Slipping out of the bed, Natasha padded over to the bedroom door and opened it the slightest crack, peering into the hall. She couldn’t see anything out of place, but the noises from the kitchen were louder - it sounded as if he was chopping vegetables, maybe. Why the hell was he _cooking_?

If anything, she’d expected he would tear her a new one when he returned. Or worse, turn icy on her and demand she return him back home and never come near him again. Natasha hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he’d been gone longer than she’d expected him to be.

There was no point in avoiding it, so she might as well go face the music. Quickly Natasha checked her appearance in the mirror, not wanting to aggravate the situation further by appearing unintentionally provocative. She’d ditched the lacy teddy as soon as he was gone last night, trading it in for a pair of sweats and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was mussed, but acceptable, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

In short, she was completely without her usual shields and defences, as vulnerable as she could make herself. He deserved that much, even though he probably wouldn’t appreciate the gesture for what it was. Then again, Steve was a lot more perceptive than most guys. Maybe he would realize that she was trying to do what he’d once asked of her, showing him as much of her true self as she could.

As she approached the kitchen, Natasha could smell eggs and cheese as well as the bacon, and she inhaled a little deeper. If the food he was making tasted half as good as it smelled it would be pretty damned amazing. Who knew Captain America could cook?

Pausing in the doorway, she watched him working. His back was to her as he stood at the stove, stirring something in a pan. The remains of several different vegetables littered the cutting board on the counter, and sure enough there was a plate of crispy bacon resting on a paper towel.

Steve was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he’d had on when he left last night, and she could see the signs of exertion in the damp patches sweat had left on the fabric. At least, she assumed the dampness on his shirt was from sweat, it was in the right places. The way his jeans had clearly gotten wet to the knee, she had no explanation for. Had he fallen in a gutter? The nearest beach was miles from here, had he gone all that way?

He was also barefoot, which Natasha found rather endearing. It suggested vulnerability and relaxation at the same time. Was he trying to do the same thing she was, and let her see him without any masks or emotional armour?

She had no illusions that he was unaware of her presence. If there was one thing she’d learned about Steve Rogers in their years of working together, it was that he usually knew exactly what was going on around him, even if he seemed oblivious.

“When did you learn to cook?” she asked, because she couldn’t come up with anything else to say that wouldn’t plunge them right back into a fight. At least the topic of food was safely neutral.

To her surprise, he turned just enough to flash a bright grin over his shoulder. It was the heart-stopping smile that had charmed all of America back in the forties, and it had done a pretty good number on modern America as well. Except this wasn’t quite the same smile he put on for the cameras; that one was just a tiny bit forced, and maybe nobody could see the difference but Natasha, but she always noticed.

No, this expression was one of genuine amusement, almost affection. There were no shadows behind it, no hesitation or reserve. It made him look years younger, like he’d never known what it was to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Something squeezed hard in Natasha’s chest, and her breath caught in her throat. He was beautiful when he smiled like that.

The smile faded a little, and he raised an eyebrow at her. Belatedly, she realized that he had been saying something, and she’d missed it. Heat flooded her cheeks, and she cleared her throat. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, are you asking when I learned to cook, or when I learned to cook _well_? They’re different answers.” Steve slid a cup of coffee across the counter, and gestured for her to take a seat at the little table in the breakfast nook. 

“Both, I guess?” Feeling a bit like she was picking her way through a minefield, Natasha picked up the mug and sat down. The liquid inside was black as sin, but when she took a sip the sweetness of far too much sugar exploded across her tongue. Exactly how she liked it.

There had to be a trap in this somewhere. He’d been so angry at her last night, and so hurt by what she’d done, yet now here he was acting like... like he was still playing the part of a sweet new husband for the spies outside.

Only there were no spies, and he knew that. So what the hell?

“Well, I kinda had to learn to fend for myself as a kid,” Steve said, his tone casual as he moved back to the stove. “My mom worked herself to the bone, trying to support us both, and I was alone a lot. So I knew how to boil a potato, make cabbage soup, that kind of thing.”

Picking up the sizzling pan, he tipped it and slid a perfect omelette onto a plate. She could see chunks of the fresh vegetables through the eggs, and smell the cheese in it. He snagged a couple of pieces of the waiting bacon and laid them on the plate as well, then put the whole thing in front of her with a fork and knife.

As she sat there staring at it, he picked up some more eggs and turned back to the stove. “This kind of thing, though, I learned after I woke up here,” he continued, expertly cracking the eggs into the pan. “The idea of paying more money than I used to make in a month for someone else to cook food for me every night wasn’t really appealing. One of the things I found online was recipes and cooking tutorials, and once I realized how many amazing ingredients are easily available, I got hooked. Nothing beats good, fresh food, and I enjoy making it.”

That made a certain amount of sense, she supposed. He certainly didn’t seem to do much else with his free time, and it wasn’t hard to see why an abundance of foodstuffs would be appealing to someone who’d grown up first in the Depression, and then with the strict rationing imposed by the war efforts. Just being able to have meat any time he wanted it probably still felt like a luxury.

Tentatively, Natasha cut off a forkful and lifted the omelette to her mouth. It was fluffy and perfect, and the crisp taste of peppers, onions, and tomatoes cut through the cheese and eggs in just the right ratio. Just one more thing Steve was too damned good at, apparently.

But while it explained his apparent aptitude at cooking, it didn’t explain _why_ he was standing there, barefoot and smiling like nothing was wrong, making her breakfast. Swallowing the bite, Natasha took another sip of her coffee, watching him like he was a bomb that might explode any moment.

“I half expected you wouldn’t even come back,” she admitted, hoping to get a sense of where they stood. “Or at least, to only come back long enough to get your things and tell me to take a hike.”

“The thought did cross my mind.” Flipping a second, much larger omelette onto another plate, Steve grabbed the rest of the bacon and moved to sit with her at the table. His expression as he watched her was surprisingly open, but his gaze was sharp. 

When he said nothing more for a long moment, Natasha sighed. He wanted her to make the first move - just like the way he fought, waiting for his opponent to commit to an attack before he countered and decimated them. “What are you doing, Steve?”

For some reason that made him chuckle. “Pretty sure I’m making you breakfast. You need your eyes checked, doll?”

“Why?” Natasha insisted. “There is no mission, I told you the truth, why are you still playing the role?”

“I’m not.” Leaning back in his chair, he took a sip of his own coffee, still watching her over the rim of the mug. “I’m making you breakfast, there’s no role involved. You wanted to know what normal life is like. I’d have done it as breakfast in bed, except I know trying to sneak up on you asleep is a bad idea and I’m not suicidal.”

Despite herself Natasha’s lips twitched at that, and she shook her head to cover it. “You’re saying you’re just going to go along with it?” Surely it couldn’t be that easy.

“Nat, you should have just asked me in the first place,” he told her, and his amused expression faded into something more serious. Not upset, exactly, and definitely not the anger or hurt she’d expected. There was determination, and maybe some sympathy. Not pity, thank god, she’d have stabbed him if he’d dared to pity her. 

“We are gonna need some ground rules,” he continued, his tone brooking no argument. “First and foremost, don’t you ever coerce me like that again. If you think what you’re asking is something I might not want to do, that’s _more_ reason to ask, not less.”

“You could have said no,” she protested, but she knew she’d made a mistake when his eyes narrowed and some of the anger she’d expected finally started to show.

“You deliberately made me think that my options were to go along with you, or leave you heading into danger on your own with no backup at all,” he reminded her. “That’s not a choice and you know it, or you wouldn’t have set it up that way. Never again, Natasha, promise me.”

This wasn’t something he was going to budge on, she could see that. Could she blame him? She’d expected far worse, after all. 

Could she make that promise, though? Oh sure, she could blithely agree now and have no intention of keeping it, but she found she didn’t _want_ to do that. If she ever again pulled a stunt like this, she knew there would be no getting his trust back, ever.

Well, when she thought about it that way, her answer became pretty obvious. “All right, I promise. No coercion.”

Hearing that made him relax again, and she hadn’t realized how tense he’d gotten until the line of his shoulders eased. “Good. Second rule, absolutely no lying. Just for this week,” he qualified when her eyebrows shot up. “I’m not going to ask you to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth for the rest of your life. Nobody could make that promise, not even me. But for the duration of this week, within the limits of what we’re trying to do here, I need to know that your reactions are honest, Nat. It won’t work, otherwise.”

That was going to be a harder promise to make. She took another bite of the omelette to give herself an excuse to think. Lying was a reflex for her, and Natasha knew sometimes she did it without even thinking about it. It would be a real effort to make certain not a single lie slipped out. 

“You made the effort right now,” Steve said, his voice softer than it had been. “You deliberately came to me open and vulnerable, Nat. Don’t think I don’t appreciate how hard that must have been for you.”

So he did realize. Nice to know the pain of stripping herself bare hadn’t gone to waste. Natasha toyed with her fork, her head fighting with her heart. “Even if I promise not to lie, if you ask me something I don’t want to answer, I’m still going to refuse.”

“Of course.” He sounded shocked that she’d felt the need to add the qualifier. “I never said you had to tell all of the truth. Just that you won’t lie.”

Leaning forward, he caught her gaze and held it, his blue eyes intense. “Natasha, everything you’ve ever been trained for, everything you’ve ever learned about surviving, is going to make you want to go with the flow of things and adjust yourself to what you think I want you to be. If we’re going to make this work for real, you need to be what _you_ want to be, and I need to know that you’ll tell me honestly if you don’t like something... or if you do.”

He did have a point. He’d also brought up the real question at the heart of all this. “Are we? Making this work for real?” She studied him the same way he was scrutinizing her, trying to divine his motives from the look in his eyes. “Why are you doing this? What do you get out of it?”

“What, you think it’s gonna be some kind of hardship for me to spend a week in your company without somebody trying to kill us?” Now he was smiling again - in fact she had a feeling he was silently laughing at her. “You think I never wondered what it would be like, either?”

“Steve, last night you were so upset at the idea of sleeping with me - just sleeping, not even doing anything else - that you tried to abort what you thought was an important mission,” Natasha exclaimed, exasperated with the way he insisted on dancing around it. “Now that’s suddenly changed?”

“I was upset at the idea of having a bunch of memories that’re gonna stay with me forever be of something that was forced and uncomfortable,” Steve replied, his tone level and easy. “Having memories of enjoying myself with you to find out what it’s like doesn’t bother me a bit.”

For the second time that morning Natasha felt herself blushing. She struggled to fight down the reflex, embarrassed that she was wearing her heart on her sleeve like this. She could and did blush on cue as part of a role, of course, but she hadn’t done it involuntarily in a long time. “And what about the consequences of enjoying yourself too much?”

“That’s my risk, and my responsibility. I promise, even if it happens, I won’t let it mess things up between us in the long run.” He smiled again, though this time it was a little quirky, like there was a wry edge to it. “And that’s also part of why ground rule number three is no sex.”

“Wait, what?” 

She must have sounded more stunned than she’d meant to, because he huffed in amusement. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you’ve probably experienced sex plenty of times. This is supposed to be exploring something neither of us is all that familiar with, and if we let sex get mixed up into it, that’s all it will end up being about.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “If this had gone the way you initially planned it, with me unaware it was fake, there wouldn’t have been any sex. Or were you planning to claim every store in the city was sold out of curtains, and we’d have to do it to convince the spies?”

“Okay, valid point,” she had to acknowledge. The fact that he was right didn’t make her any less disappointed, though. She’d kind of thought that after a week of pretending to be her husband, he might have _wanted_ to finally get all that unresolved sexual tension out from between them. “So no physical contact?”

“Did I say that?” Steve sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Touch isn’t always about sex. Sometimes I think the way the modern world is so happy to jump straight into things means you’ve all forgotten how to enjoy the steps along the way. Cuddling is fine. Kissing is fine. You wanted to know what I’m getting out of it, well, that’s it. I never got a chance to really experience that kind of courting, and I want to.”

“If you ever went on any of those dates I tried to set you up on, you wouldn’t be missing out on that kind of thing,” Natasha retorted.

“Never found the right partner,” he insisted. “Tried a couple times, but like I said, they all seemed to want to go straight to home base without passing any of the others. So are we doing this, or not?”

Natasha looked down at the table, where the plate of delicious omelette and mug of perfect coffee waited. He’d made that for her, even wanted to take it to her in bed, just because he could. Because it was a sweet thing to do.

And when she looked up, she saw him sitting there - open and genuine, barefoot and entirely adorable. He was more relaxed and natural than she’d ever seen him before... and she still couldn’t get the image of that breath-stealing smile out of her mind. 

He wanted this. She wanted this.

So why did it feel like agreeing might be the stupidest mistake she’d ever made?

“Yeah, all right,” Natasha agreed, her voice a little husky. He knew what he was getting into now, so she wasn’t breaking his heart, and that was the important thing, right?

If she kept telling herself that, maybe she’d convince herself that _his_ heart was the only thing she was worried about.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter didn't exist in the first draft of this story. Or rather, it was a two paragraph summary at the start of the next chapter. I realized I was suffering from a bad case of 'telling, not showing' and decided to expand it, lol.

The first night after they’d agreed to give it a try, he made her dinner from scratch and served it with candles, flowers, and soft music playing. The perfect clichéd candlelight romantic dinner for two, in other words.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Natasha protested, standing in the doorway and staring. The evidence of all his obvious hard work made her breath catch. “Steve, this is too much. I never intended you to end up slaving over me.”

“I know I didn’t have to,” he said, giving her the same bright, open smile she’d seen for the first time that morning. “That’s kind of the whole point, doll. If I _had_ to, it wouldn’t be much of a romantic gesture.”

The food was delicious, and he became adorably flustered when she told him so. Actually he was more self-conscious just talking to her over dinner than he had been in a long time, like he didn’t know what he was supposed to say when they weren’t talking about a mission. Natasha had heard women at Shield gossip about how shy and awkward Steve was when flirted with, but he’d gotten over it with her so long ago she’d forgotten how tongue-tied he could be when he was uncertain.

The sudden change left her rather bemused. He’d seemed perfectly at ease talking to her about all this when he’d confronted her in the kitchen that morning, even when they’d been discussing the rules about sex. Why backslide to the shy introvert now?

About halfway through the main course, she figured it out. He’d been treating the discussion that morning like it was a mission briefing. He had specific parameters, and he’d laid them out in a precise and logical way. Now, he was just trying to make conversation as if this was any other date, and flirting was foreign territory to him. 

Once she got him talking about all the amazing new foods he’d tried since waking up in the modern day, he started to relax. He seemed equally interested in asking her about her favourites, and from there they moved on to talking about other hobbies they’d picked up over the years. She already knew about his interest in art, but she hadn’t realized he’d had some formal schooling. When she admitted that she’d trained in classical ballet, he was fascinated and wanted to see her dance some time. She refused to make any promises, but was touched that he genuinely seemed interested in it because it mattered to her.

By the time they were nibbling on dessert, he appeared to have firmly gotten over whatever nerves had been plaguing him. Once again Natasha was forced to wonder how many dates he’d really been on, but he’d been so ruffled on the previous occasions when she’d questioned his experience level that she decided not to tease him about it. 

Well, he’d admitted that he was willing to go along with her insanity this week at least partially because he’d never had this sort of experience either, so that was sort of an answer right there. Watching him smile softly at her from across the table, Natasha resolved to make certain this experience was a good one for him, as well.

* * *

One of the items she’d made certain to bring with her was a console gaming system, and Natasha had a great deal of fun introducing Steve to video games. He loved racing games, and took to player-vs-player games like a duck to water. With his enhanced reflexes and superior hand-eye coordination, he owned her mercilessly after just a few rounds of each, but he was such a good sport about it Natasha found she didn’t even mind losing. Much.

He did surprise her a little by disliking first person shooter games, which was a shame because it was the one thing she might have been able to consistently beat him on. Upon consideration, she realized they probably hit too close to home to be a fun escape from reality.

After playing a bit of each of the games she’d brought, they settled on the latest Need For Speed. When she returned to the couch after changing the disc, Steve caught her wrist and tugged her down to sit on his lap, instead of beside him like she had been. Natasha went willingly enough, and he shifted them so their legs were tangled together along the length of the couch, his back against the arm and hers against his chest. He had to wrap his arms around her to hold his controller, and he was so ridiculously big and warm it was like being enveloped in a blanket. A really solid, muscular blanket.

“This okay?” he asked softly. From this position Natasha couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the uncertainty in his tone. He was such a confusing mixture of boldness and shyness, it was so endearing it should be illegal.

“More than okay,” Natasha replied, forcing herself to relax against him. She wasn’t used to being so close to someone without it being about sex, which was why it took effort to release her tension. After a few moments it started to feel more natural, and even enjoyable.

When she rested her head against his shoulder, she felt him nuzzle his cheek against her hair a moment later, and draw in a deep breath like he was inhaling the scent of her shampoo. He’d done that the day before too, she remembered. She wondered if his enhanced senses made this sort of thing feel different. Given the way she was hyper-aware of the feel of his body against hers, she couldn’t imagine it feeling even more intense.

Experimentally she shifted a little, rubbing one foot slowly along his calf. Just a light touch, teasing, to see how he would react. He drew in a sharp breath and went still against her for a moment. Yes, he was definitely at least as aware of her as she was of him.

Well, he had said that touch was okay, just not sex. She leaned back against him a little harder, and he tightened his arms around her in response. Then he startled her by dropping his head to brush his lips over her ear, making her shiver.

“Tease,” she accused him. She knew a dozen tricks for making her voice sound breathless and aroused, but she’d never had it happen naturally before.

“You started it,” he replied. There was a husky note to his words that said he was feeling the pull between them just as much as she was. “Admit it, you’re just trying to distract me so you can win this round. You’re a sore loser.”

The accusation startled a soft laugh out of her. “That might be true, but I’ve never enjoyed losing as much as this.”

They played for ages, well into the small hours of the night, and Natasha’s words proved prophetic. She truly couldn’t remember a time when she’d enjoyed herself more, or been so pleasantly relaxed. Once her body accepted that the closeness didn’t mean sex was going to happen soon, she was able to simply settle into the warm, pleasant glow of it. She’d never felt anything quite like it.

She wasn’t even sure when she closed her eyes, or when the controller slipped from her lax hand. All she was aware of was the soft double-thud of his heartbeat drumming her to sleep.

* * *

The first stars of the evening were already twinkling in the eastern sky, but the air still held a hint of warmth to it from the early autumn sun. Trapped on a narrow strip of land between the mountains and the ocean, Seattle was usually pleasantly temperate, and despite its reputation it rarely rained at this time of year. Steve had caught her hand as they walked along, and though part of Natasha protested the idea of having a limb entangled in any way, the rest of her was enjoying the sensation of his big fingers laced through hers. It was a surprisingly intimate connection, linking them together in a tangible way. She’d never understood why people liked walking around tied to each other, but now she was starting to grasp it.

To most people, they would have looked like any young couple out for a walk in the early evening, feckless and carefree. Only a pro would notice the way both of them moved, ready to dodge or defend on a moment’s notice. Steve’s eyes were constantly shifting, taking in everything around them. She liked that about him, that he was always cataloguing threat levels and avenues of advance and retreat, his tactical mind never truly silent. She tended to be the same way, though she was usually looking for snipers on the roof and operatives in disguise rather than enemy soldiers and potential ambush locations. They complemented each other well.

Though at the moment, he did seem to be glancing at her every so often, like he was trying to size up her threat level as well. “You seem nervous,” she teased him, squeezing his hand. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you with my life,” he answered easily, giving her a wry look. “I’m just not sure I trust you with my dignity.”

“Your dignity? How am I any threat to that?” Natasha was genuinely curious. She’d coaxed him into going out with her for their third night in the city, and he had seemed a little reluctant, especially when she’d refused to say exactly where they were going. But why would he assume his dignity was in danger?

“This may surprise you, but I do know a few things about modern clubs,” he said with a grimace. “It’s really not my thing, Nat.”

The light finally dawned, and Natasha barely stopped herself from laughing aloud. She had said something about going to a club, hadn’t she? Of course he assumed she was trying to get him into a _night_ club. It wasn’t like she’d never tried before, after all.

“Steve, if I was planning to take you to that kind of club, you’d be wearing a hell of a lot more leather and spandex right now.” Tipping her head to one side, she gave him a slow once over, not in the least bit ashamed of showing her appreciation. Even in slacks and a button up shirt, he looked damned good. The mental image of him in leather and mesh was enough to make her sigh. “Not that I think you’d actually agree, but a girl can dream.”

It was too dark for her to be able to see if he was blushing, sadly. The little noise he made said he hadn’t missed the look she was giving him, but he sounded amused as much as embarrassed. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, the contact electric against the delicate skin there.

“Look, if you don’t like it, I promise we can turn right around and leave,” she told him.

“What? You’re not going to make me swear to try it for at least half an hour before I decide I can’t stand it?” He looked surprised, and this time she did laugh out loud.

“I won’t even make you stay five minutes. Trust me, Steve.”

They reached Dimitriou’s not long after, and Steve came to an abrupt stop when he saw the sign. “Jazz Alley?” he read, eyes wide. When he looked at her, she tried to keep the worst of the smugness out of her smile.

“Well, I couldn’t find anywhere with a barbershop quartet,” she said, as innocent as a nun at confession. She dodged the punch he aimed at her shoulder, which was a little more difficult than usual since she didn’t want to let go of his hand to do it. “I figured from the albums I saw on your shelves, this might be an acceptable substitute. It won’t be the same style you’re used to from the forties, but...”

She didn’t get to finish the rest of the explanation, as he swept her up into an embrace and kissed her. Natasha was startled, considering his reaction the last time the topic of displays of public affection had come up, but she went along with it willingly. 

When he released her, she was treated to the sight of that gorgeous grin again. He looked as excited as a kid at Christmas, like she’d just given him the best present in the world. “I was half starting to think people didn’t even listen to jazz anymore,” he admitted. “Do they have a dance floor?”

“No, it’s a dinner club, though it is live music.” Natasha shrugged, and gave him her best alluring smile. “If you want to dance, you’re going to have to go to my kind of club. Or we can put the stereo on at home, but you’ll still have to wear the leather.”

“I may yet take you up on that last offer,” he said, and squeezed her hand once more. “Thanks, Natasha. You’re right, I should have trusted you.”

“I want you to enjoy this week as much as I am,” she told him, and meant every word. 

“Come on, let’s go inside, I can hear them getting set up. I don’t want to miss a second.”

Smiling to herself at his enthusiasm, Natasha let him pull her through the door. Hearing him say that he should have trusted her, after the way she’d shattered that trust just a few days ago, meant more to her than it probably should have. Maybe this wouldn’t all end in complete disaster, after all.

* * *

They watched the first two Hobbit movies on video before going to the theatre to see the last one. Steve seemed entranced by every moment, which was reward enough in itself. But when Natasha broke out the Lord of the Rings trilogy set the next day, she was startled by the blank look on Steve’s face.

It turned out he hadn’t even known there were any other books - published after his time, she discovered with some quick research on her phone. He was thrilled to find out there was more to the story, and she made a mental note to get him a set of the books as a present before the week was out. Dead tree version, of course. She didn’t need him to tell her that he’d treasure that far more than an ebook.

This time Steve watched the movies with his sketchbook open in his lap, pencil flying over the page as he did quick, rough drawings of bits of armour, costumes, and set pieces. Natasha sat curled up against his left side, watching in fascination as the pictures came to life. She’d seen several of his drawings over the years, but she’d never had a chance to watch him create one before.

“You’re pretty good,” she complimented him after the movies were done. 

He shook his head, flushing. “Nah, I’m just messing around. Mostly I do sketches and doodles, not any kind of serious art. Heck, I haven’t even drawn a live model since before the war. Maybe I should take another class or something.”

Picturing the looks on the faces of the other students when Captain America sat down with them, Natasha chuckled. As for the model, they’d either be too flustered to pose properly, or spend the whole time trying to catch Steve’s eye, probably.

“Well, if you want to practice, you could always try asking,” some imp of the perverse made her say.

“What, you’d pose for me?” Steve seemed both surprised and pleased at the offer. “You know it’s about as fun as watching paint dry for the model, right? You just sit there not moving for ages while I stare at you, we can’t even talk.”

“I’m a trained spy and assassin, Steve, I’ve got more than enough patience to sit unmoving for a while.” She gave him a sly smile. “Want me to pose nude? I would, for you.”

To her surprise, the offer didn’t faze him in the least. He just grinned back at her, and shook his head. “Whatever you want, doll.” Perhaps seeing her disbelief at his casual attitude, he chuckled. “I’ve worked with nude models before, Nat. It’s really not all that sexual, I’m more focused on trying to capture the shapes than admiring them.”

“Now that sounds like a challenge.” Sliding off the couch, Natasha leaned over and kissed him quickly. “Give me ten minutes to get ready, then you can come up to the bedroom.”

Steve thought he could focus on art and not be distracted or aroused by looking at her posing? They’d just see about that. Still smiling to herself, Natasha slipped into the revealing teddy she’d worn the first night, before rumpling the bedcovers artistically to make it look like they’d been disturbed by some very athletic sexual escapades. Then she draped herself on the bed just so. She’d had plenty of training in how to be as alluring as possible, posing to show herself off to her best advantage. She’d just never had such a fun reason to use the knowledge, before.

Sure enough, when Steve entered the room a few moments later, she heard his breath catch as he came to an abrupt stop in the doorway. She tilted her head so she could see him, and the pole-axed expression on his face was even better than the look he’d given her the first time she’d worn this for him.

“Well?” She gave him her most provocative smile. “Since you’re such a professional, this shouldn’t bother you, right? I thought I’d give you something more interesting to draw than a model just sitting on a stool.”

For a few heartbeats he remained just standing there staring at her, before he shuddered and closed his eyes, then shook his head like he was trying to clear it. When he opened his eyes again she could see the heat in them as he trailed his gaze over her body, but he seemed a little less dazed.

“You are something else, Natasha Romanoff,” he said, his voice husky. The sound of it made her shiver, and she stretched languidly, earning herself a strangled groan from Steve.

“No moving,” he scolded her. Moving over to the window, he considered her for a long moment before he drew the heaviest of the new curtains back, leaving just the sheer ones to diffuse the light falling on her. And probably to hide her from the neighbours, given his sensibilities.

Then he perched himself on the broad window sill and opened the sketchbook in his lap. Natasha smiled to herself as she settled back into her chosen pose, wondering if he thought holding the book like that was in any way hiding his reaction to her. There were plenty of signs of his arousal beyond the obvious one.

It seemed to take him a few minutes to really get started. He’d sketch a few lines, then just stare at her for a while, before shaking his head again and returning to drawing. The longer he worked, however, the more he settled into it, and soon the scratching of the pencil was almost constant. It really was more clinical than romantic, once he got focused; she could tell he was looking at her more as a collection of shapes than a person.

At least, until he was finished. When she hadn’t heard him moving in some time, Natasha risked shifting her head a bit to get a good look at him, and found him staring back at her with naked heat in his expression. He was breathing harder than usual, and even from this distance she could see that his pupils were dilated with arousal.

God, he looked good enough to eat. Natasha couldn’t remember the last time she’d truly _wanted_ someone as badly as she wanted Steve. There was merit to his argument that they shouldn’t have sex, and she’d surprised herself this week by discovering that touching for the sake of touching could be every bit as fulfilling in its own way, but it also left her aching. In a way, that was yet another point in favour of Steve’s assertion that people rushed into sex far too fast these days, and didn’t take the time to enjoy all the steps leading up to it.

Right now it felt like she’d taken more than enough steps, however. Since he hadn’t objected to her moving, Natasha pushed herself up to a sitting position, careful to make every movement as enticing as possible. “Can I see it?”

Looking at her like he knew he was walking into a trap, Steve swallowed and nodded. He padded over to the bed and sat down next to her, angling the sketchbook so she could see the picture.

For a moment she was genuinely distracted by the sight of it. He’d done it in pastels, the soft colours well suited to the intimacy of the image. Natasha was no art critic, and he was probably right that it wasn’t at a professional level, but it was beautiful. She could see his appreciation for her in the careful, precise strokes, the loving little details. In some ways, looking at this image made her even more aware of his attraction to her than seeing him stare at her.

Even though he’d clearly been expecting her to try something, Natasha still managed to move fast enough to catch him by surprise when she pushed the book out of the way and slung herself onto his lap, knees on either side of his hips on the bed and arms wrapped around his neck for support. He didn’t object when she leaned in to kiss him, even lifted his hands to her waist to help steady her as they tried to devour each other.

Deliberately Natasha rocked her hips forward, grinding down against the hard length of him. The thin satin of her panties was no barrier, and she was so wet even the rough denim of his jeans felt good. Steve’s grip on her tightened, and he thrust up against her once, twice, like he couldn’t help himself.

Then he broke the kiss, panting as he forced them both to still, the strength in his arms more than a match for her attempts to keep moving. “You know the rules, sweetheart.” His voice was strained, but there was a clear warning beneath the words.

Leaning in, Natasha nibbled at the curve of his ear, making him moan. “You know, the best rules are the ones that are made to be broken. Especially when you’re the one who made them in the first place.”

For a moment she thought she had him, as he shuddered and turned his head to run his mouth along the arch of her neck. But instead of pulling her closer and letting her move again, he pushed her away until she was balanced on his knees, barely in contact with him.

“Natasha...” The restraint was obviously costing him; she could see the effort in the way his chest heaved, and the veins standing out in his forearms as he tightened his grip almost to the point of pain.

“You sure?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and trailed one hand along his jaw. “You look a little... uncomfortable.” 

“Still not the word I would use,” he retorted, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from smiling in response to the inside joke. “The answer is no, Natasha.”

Frustrated, she pulled away, and he let her go easily. She stood there with her hands on her hips, looking down at him. He matched the rumpled bed, looking disheveled and gorgeously aroused. There was a wet patch on his jeans, and Natasha felt heat race through her as she realized she’d left it there. “You are the most aggravatingly stubborn person in existence,” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

The words just made him laugh. “You knew that long before this week started, doll.”

That much was certainly true. Steve was literally famous for his stubbornness. “Fine,” she said, turning on her heel and stalking towards the bathroom. “I’m going to take a nice, long bath, and enjoy myself thoroughly without any help from you.”

As she’d hoped, the words made him groan. “Damn, Natasha, now I’m never going to get that image out of my head.”

“That was exactly my intention.” She paused in the doorway for one last look at him - he’d leaned back on his hands on the bed, and was watching her with unabashed appreciation, but he still made no move to get up or call her back. “Feel free to join me at any point if you change your mind.”

As she shut the door behind her, she heard him cursing under his breath, and smiled to herself. At least she knew she wasn’t the only one suffering.

* * *

Friday afternoon he insisted she go out shopping for an evening gown. He refused to tell her what he had planned, probably as payback for the way she’d taken him to the jazz club. Knowing Steve, Natasha assumed they were more likely to be going to the theatre or an art gallery than a high-class party, so she chose accordingly.

When she came down the stairs and he got a good look at her, the appreciative warmth in his gaze was almost palpable. “Hot damn, Natasha,” he breathed out, eyes tracking slowly over every inch of her like he was committing the image to memory. She posed for him, knowing the deep violet velvet of the dress emphasized the creamy paleness of her skin. Her hair was dark enough at the moment that it didn’t clash with the dress, and she’d deliberately done her hair and makeup with a forties-style inspiration. She looked good and she knew it, and she was happy to give him the chance to appreciate it.

After a few moments he seemed to remember the importance of breathing. Smiling, he came forward and offered her a little bouquet. Six red roses, nearly the same shade as the lipstick she’d chosen. They were smaller than she was used to, the petals not quite as lush, but even before she’d taken them from him the scent of them washed over her.

“You wouldn’t believe how far I had to search to find roses that actually smell like roses,” he told her, shaking his head. “The rest of them might be even more beautiful now, but what’s the point of beauty without substance? I’d rather have the real thing.”

And that in a nutshell was exactly what Natasha found so appealing about him. Steve would always look past the surface of people, perhaps because of the way so many had judged him on appearance alone before he’d taken the serum. He’d never once doubted or questioned her competence, despite the general attitude towards women in the time he’d grown up in. Hell, despite the attitude towards women even now. He appreciated all of her, not just the outward beauty... she thought he honestly might have been attracted to her even if she hadn’t been pretty.

Selecting one rose from the bunch, Natasha smiled as she saw that they still had their thorns. Yet another sign that Steve was more interested in the whole picture than just the attractive bits. Snapping off most of the stem, she tucked the blossom into her hair, and the thorns helped hold it in place among the curls.

“How does it look?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Beautiful,” he answered, and his eyes never left hers.

Dinner was nice; Steve had made reservations at an upscale restaurant. The service was good and the food was better, but Natasha was surprised to realize she’d enjoyed the dinners he’d made for her even more. Of course, given the attitude he’d expressed towards paying people to make food for him, it was a hell of a statement that he was willing to take her out like this. It said that he thought she was worth spending the money on. For once, she didn’t try to argue that she could pay her own half, feeling it would cheapen the gesture he was trying to make.

As they approached the entrance to their evening entertainment, Natasha thought at first that she’d been right about it being a theatre. Then she saw the marquee, and felt the breath leave her chest in a rush.

Pacific Northwest Ballet. He’d remembered their conversation from that first night, and just as she had found the jazz club for him, he’d gone out of his way to bring her to something he hoped she would like.

“I know it may not exactly be up to the standards of the Imperial Russian Ballet,” he said, watching her anxiously. His words proved he’d done some research, and she appreciated the effort he’d gone to. “I mean, the reviews were decent, but I have no idea how to judge if something is good or not.”

“It’s perfect,” she said, her voice husky as she tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m sure they’re wonderful, but I wouldn’t care if they were first year students. I can’t believe you did this.”

“Anything for you, doll,” he said, and his smile was a softer version of his beautiful grin.

The company was performing Balanchine’s _Jewels_ , and Natasha couldn’t have imagined anything more appropriate. She loved the French whimsy of _Emeralds_ and the bold modern American flavour of _Rubies_ , but it was the way _Diamonds_ captured the essence of classical Russian ballet that touched her the most. Some of her rare good memories were things she could never recall without hearing Tchaikovsky playing in the back of her mind.

As the curtain drew closed on the dancers’ last bow, Natasha turned to Steve with a rueful smile. “Thank you. You were bored out of your mind, weren’t you.”

“What? No,” he denied, seeming startled by her words. “What makes you think that?”

“The fact that you barely looked at the stage the entire time.” He hadn’t complained once, hadn’t even so much as sighed, but she’d looked over at him a few times to see if he was enjoying himself.

He laughed softly, an edge of heat in the look in his eyes. “I can go watch a ballet any time I want - though I admit it probably won’t ever be my first choice of entertainment. But I won’t likely get many chances to watch you enjoying something so much.”

He’d been watching her watch the show? And clearly appreciated the view, judging by the look on his face. Natasha felt heat sweep over her cheeks, but she returned his smile and leaned in for a kiss.

In the back of her mind, she couldn’t help wondering if this week had been a mistake after all. How the hell was any other guy ever going to measure up to Steve? She might never go on a date again.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to, if it wouldn’t be like this.


	6. Chapter 6

It was probably a statement about Natasha’s life that a week spent doing nothing but what normal people did was one of the weirder experiences she’d ever had.

What had pushed it over the edge into Twilight Zone territory was the way Steve was almost a different person than the man she’d thought she knew so well. He’d been relaxed and happy, sweet and affectionate, and he smiled and laughed more in the course of one week than she’d seen him do in two years.

It finally dawned on Natasha that before this she’d only ever seen him under stressful conditions, on missions. Just the fact that she’d been sent to pick him up meant he was already getting himself into battle mode, focused on the job. 

She’d thought that she knew Steve Rogers. It turned out that the man she really knew was Captain America, just without the mask. Now she’d seen an entirely different side of him.

Not that she was unhappy about it. Hell, no. She’d known when she decided to ask him for help on this ‘mission’ that he was the kind of guy every girl would dream about having as a boyfriend, but she hadn’t really understood what that might mean. She’d wanted to experience romance, and by god, romance was what she got.

And she finally understood why people lost their heads over it, because having Steve shower attention and affection on her was the most addicting thing she’d ever experienced.

The days had sped past so quickly, Natasha caught herself wondering if she could talk Steve into extending their arrangement to a month, instead. A week had seemed like plenty of time at the start, but now that they were almost at the end of it, she couldn’t imagine how she’d thought that would be long enough to get a really good grasp on what this felt like.

Unfortunately, she also knew that changing the rules at this point would be a phenomenally stupid thing to do. She was fairly certain they could both still walk away from this and have no problems in the future. A month would be pushing it way too far.

Their last night in the house, they spent the evening curled up together once again. Going out was nice, but Natasha had discovered that this sort of quiet intimacy was her favourite part of ‘normal’ life. 

Steve reclined on the couch, with Natasha settled between his legs with her back against his chest, leaning against him. He had one hand resting against her stomach, his thumb brushing the ribs beneath her breasts. Every so often he would flex the hand, rubbing his fingers over the thin material of her tank top, just because he knew she enjoyed it.

Natasha couldn’t remember ever being this... she didn’t even have a word for it. Happy, or maybe content. Satisfied probably wasn’t quite right, considering the way the sexual tension between them had pretty much launched itself out of the stratosphere at this point. And yet, despite the ache of wanting him, she’d come to love just sitting here like this, with him wrapped around her like a living blanket, enjoying the feel of his warm, strong body against hers. He always smelled good, like clean sweat and the plain soap he used in the shower. She might have already decided to steal one of his t-shirts when they left so she could keep his scent with her to remind her of this time.

“So are you going to just keep holding me until we fall asleep on the couch again?” she asked as the movie ended. He’d refused to sleep with her in the bed, insisting that his self-control only went so far, but somehow that had just meant she ended up sleeping out here with him instead. The couch was comfortable enough, and she wasn’t sure why it made a difference to his control, but it did so that worked for both of them.

“Is that a problem?” Steve replied. She could feel the deep rumble of his voice against her back, and it made her want to rub against him. Especially when he shifted his other hand to stroke her thigh, right where the hem of her shorts met her skin.

“You know, this _is_ the last night. Your point about not letting this turn into something that’s all about sex was valid at the start of the week, but is it still?”

“Why, Miss Romanoff. Are you propositioning me?” He dipped his head so his breath gusted over her neck as he spoke, making her shiver.

“Depends. Would it work this time?” Natasha already knew the answer was probably no, but he couldn’t blame a girl for trying, right?

She heard him draw in a breath, presumably to answer her, but he never got the chance. There was a scratching noise from behind them, followed by a click as someone picked the lock to the back door. An ordinary person probably would never have noticed the sound, but both of them were always too aware of their surroundings to miss it.

Both Natasha and Steve were on their feet before the first intruder even stepped through the door. Natasha was swearing internally at her own carelessness, because she’d been relaxed enough this week that she’d gotten out of the habit of having a weapon on her at all times. She knew Steve was probably similarly cursing himself. Not that they couldn’t be plenty deadly with just hands and feet, but if these were Hydra agents, they were in big trouble.

“Holy shit, they’re awake,” she heard someone exclaim as the door swung open.

“On your knees, hands on your heads,” the man in the doorway barked, and brandished an eight inch knife at them.

For a frozen moment, Natasha stared at the intruders. They were wearing cheap ski masks, but judging by their size and the sound of their voices, they were probably in their late teens or very early twenties. The boy with the knife was holding it like he had no idea what to actually do with it, but figured that simply possessing it would be enough to subdue his targets.

A giggle bubbled up in her throat, and slipped out before she could quite stop it. It wasn’t Hydra, just a home invasion. By a bunch of punk-ass kids, with _knives_. Probably looking for something to steal to make a quick buck.

“I said, on your knees, bitch!” the boy shouted, and took a step towards her in a stance that he probably thought was menacing. Natasha’s giggles piled on top of one another, until they turned to outright laughter and left her gasping for air. “The fuck is so funny?” he demanded, clearly put out by her lack of cowering.

“Natasha, you’re not helping,” Steve sighed, and she sensed some of the tension drain from him as he came to the same conclusion she had. The threat level was negligible.

“Why would you need me to help?” Natasha choked out, waving a hand to indicate she had no intention of interfering. “They’re all yours, I’m just going to sit here and enjoy the show.”

“I’ll break them,” Steve protested, giving her a disbelieving look. “They’re just dumb kids, Nat. You can take them out without hurting them better than I can.”

“Hey, you stupid shits, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Another of the other invaders - there were three of them, it seemed - pulled out a second knife, smaller than his buddy’s but probably still substantial enough to terrify your average suburban resident.

Too bad for them they were dealing with targets far less easily frightened.

“Oh, fine, take all the fun out of it,” Natasha complained at Steve, rolling her eyes as she throttled her laughter. “Admit it, you just want to see me flash my legs around fighting in shorts this tiny.”

“It’s always a pleasure to watch you work,” he said, his voice low and husky, matching the appreciation she could see in his eyes.

They both heard the too-familiar click of a safety being thrown, and suddenly nothing about the situation was funny anymore. Steve threw himself forward, knocking the couch askew as he lunged at the nearest of the intruders. Natasha dove to one side, rolled, and came up on her feet behind the one with the gun before he even realized she had moved. 

With one swift chop she broke his wrist, and he screamed as he dropped the gun. One of his friends, the one not being tackled by Steve, turned to try to defend him. She gave that one a snap kick to the head that dropped him like a rock, and snatched his pig-sticker of a knife out of his hand as he fell. Turning with the momentum of the kick, she grabbed the gunman’s broken arm and wrenched it up behind his back, then laid the blade of his friend’s knife along his throat.

All in all, it took them less than ten seconds to subdue the idiots. Steve stood over the one he’d taken down, foot planted on the kid’s chest to keep him in place. The one Natasha had kicked groaned and started to stir, then froze when Steve cracked his knuckles sharply. As for the gunman, the knife at his throat seemed to convince him that not moving was the best course of action, though he continued to make pained grunting noises as she twisted at his arm.

“The hell man, what the fuck are you two, like some kind of mutants?” the kid Steve was standing on wheezed out.

Ignoring the question, Steve surveyed their captives and sighed. “Now what do we do with them?”

Natasha considered it. “Well, we’re supposed to be normal right now. What do normal people do when someone breaks into their house? Call the police, I guess.”

The suggestion made Steve grimace. “Right. Because it’s not like the cops are going to question how we took them down. Or for that matter, recognize us. It would be a media circus in minutes.”

Picturing the headlines, Natasha had to agree it would create a hell of a mess. The two of them were notorious enough after the fall of Hydra, they didn’t need any further bad press. “We could always nominate them for the Darwin awards.”

The kids clearly knew what she meant; the one she was holding went rigid, and she thought she smelled the sharp scent of urine from one of the others. Steve just looked puzzled. “Darwin awards?”

“You know, Charles Darwin? Theory of evolution, only the fittest survive?” Natasha prompted him. When he nodded, she grinned at him. “The Darwin awards are given to people who manage to remove themselves from the gene pool in the most spectacularly stupid ways possible. I’d say attacking Captain America and Black Widow in their own home definitely qualifies these three.”

There was a moment of shocked silence as the intruders fully absorbed her words. “Oh, shit,” she thought she heard one of them moan.

“We’re not killing them, Nat.” Steve sounded long-suffering. “They’re just kids.”

“Well, you’ve just vetoed our only two options,” Natasha told him, pretending to be exasperated. “Though I suppose without Shield’s resources, making the bodies disappear would be more difficult. What do you suggest, then?”

Steve and Natasha had always excelled at playing the good cop, bad cop routine, and it seemed appropriate here. These punks weren’t worth the trouble calling the police would cause, but what they’d been trying to do was potentially serious. They needed to know there could be equally serious potential consequences, or they’d just do it again to somebody less able to defend themselves.

“What do you say, boys. Have you learned your lesson?” Steve asked, lifting his foot so the one he was holding down could actually breathe enough to answer clearly. He might as well have not bothered, because the ensuing chorus of ‘I swear we’ll never do it again’ and ‘Fuck please don’t kill us’ was so incoherent it was hard to tell who said what, anyway.

Finally Natasha took the blade away from her captive’s throat, though she didn’t let go of his broken arm just yet. Reaching up, she pulled the ski mask off the boy’s head - and it really was just a boy, he probably wasn’t even out of high school yet. Honestly, what was the world coming to these days?

Releasing him with a push towards the door, she leaned down and snatched the mask off the one she’d kicked. Steve did the same, though she could tell from his confused expression he wasn’t sure why she wanted them off, then lifted his captive up off the floor and set him on his feet. 

That bit was a nice touch, she had to admit. If the kids hadn’t believed her claim about who they really were, seeing Steve casually lift a hundred and eighty pound guy off the floor with one hand without even straining would go a long way towards convincing them.

“Insurance,” Natasha said, explaining both to the boys and to Steve. “Now I know what you look like, and that means I can find you. Anywhere, anytime. If I catch wind of any of you three idiots pulling a stunt like this again, I will hunt you all down and give you an _intimate_ demonstration of exactly how to terrorize someone with a knife. Are we clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the former leader squeaked, his voice breaking on the second word. The other two just nodded frantically, their faces so white she wondered if any blood was actually still getting to their heads. 

She pointed at the door, and two of them scampered straight out. The one whose wrist she had broken made a hesitant move toward his gun, but froze when she gave him a dirty look. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded. “Don’t push your luck.”

Gulping, the kid finally turned and ran after his buddies. Natasha slammed the door closed behind them and locked it again, even though they’d pretty much conclusively proven that the locks on this house did jack shit in terms of safety.

“You’re hurt,” Steve said, coming up behind her and touching her back. Glancing down, Natasha was surprised to see that he was right; blood sluiced down over her left arm from a long line gouged out just below her shoulder. The bullet had grazed her as she dived out of the way.

“Flesh wound,” she declared after a moment of critical examination. She couldn’t feel the pain of it yet, but she knew it was going to sting once the adrenaline wore off. “Doesn’t even need stitches, just some antiseptic and a bandage. I think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom, I can handle it.” 

“No, you can sit right here and let me get the kit and take care of it,” Steve retorted. When she opened her mouth to argue, he simply grabbed her by the waist and lifted her to sit on the kitchen counter. “I’m _supposed_ to be spending this week fussing over you, Nat. Let me do my job.”

Subsiding, she leaned back against the cabinets and waited as he headed into the bathroom. When he came back a few moments later, he had a little white plastic box with a red cross on the front. “This thing is a joke,” he commented as he set it beside her. “There’s hardly anything in here.”

“Enough to handle something this minor,” Natasha shrugged. When he gestured, she obediently held out her arm for him to wash with a warm damp cloth. Natasha frowned as she saw that the injury was deeper than she’d first thought, but thankfully she still didn’t think it needed stitches.

Steve’s hands were confident but gentle as he slathered the wound with antiseptic cream and carefully bandaged it. It wasn’t the first time he’d helped her with an injury, but it was the first time when there was no prospect of further danger to keep them tense and wary while he did it. For once she was able to appreciate the firm touch of his fingers against her skin, the way his little frown of concentration furrowed his brow and made him look adorable. 

Natasha had never liked being fussed over, preferring to make it clear that she was more than capable of taking care of herself without anyone’s help. Now she was discovering that while she might not _need_ the help, she rather liked having Steve take care of her anyway. Maybe because there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he was fully aware she _could_ handle herself without him.

Finally he secured the bandage, slipping a finger beneath it briefly to make certain it wasn’t too tight. “There, that should keep you for now, and you can probably take it off after a couple of days.”

Testing her range of motion, Natasha found the bandage was secure but not restricting. Satisfied, she reached out and caught Steve by the shoulders as he started to move away with the kit. He looked surprised, but let her reel him in until he was standing flush against the counter, her legs on either side of his hips. “So, how about we return to what we were talking about before we were so rudely interrupted?” she suggested.

“Natasha...” Steve’s hands came up to settle at her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter, and not incidentally tighter against him. When Natasha deliberately licked her lips, his eyes followed the motion.

“At this point, I think _not_ getting it out of our system might cause more damage than walking away.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, Natasha inched closer still, until they were pressed together from groin to chest. The counter was at the perfect height, and she could feel the hard length of him through their pants. 

He blew out a sharp breath, and turned his head to brush his lips against her ear. “You sure? I don’t want to end up being just another guy who wants to get under your skirt, doll.”

The first time he’d called her that, she’d had a hard time keeping a straight face. Now she found the old-fashioned term endearing and unique, so perfectly him that it was touching. “You’ve just spent the entire week proving that you’re not,” she assured him. She raked her nails down his back, which made him shudder and groan, and she smiled into his neck. “I promise I’ll still respect you in the morning, Steve. No strings, no regrets.”

“No regrets,” he agreed, and pulled back just enough to be able to kiss her to seal the deal.


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the way she’d teased him after the incident in the mall, Steve had turned out to be a decent kisser when he wasn’t worried about being caught, and he’d learned a lot over the last week. Natasha moaned and melted against him as he flicked his tongue over hers, then closed his teeth over her bottom lip hard enough to pinch a little.

Running her hands down over the impressive muscles of his back, Natasha found the hem of his t-shirt and slipped beneath it, then scraped her nails back up over the flesh. Steve shuddered again and rocked into her, grinding against her core, only the thin material of his pants and her shorts keeping him from being right where she needed him to be.

Natasha arched against him, tilting her hips so his rocking pushed the length of him over her clit again and again. The feel of it left her panting sharply, and his hands tightened at her waist as she moaned again. She didn’t think she’d ever been this turned on, this quickly before. Then again, they’d basically been indulging in steadily increasing foreplay all damned week. 

So when he scooped her up off the counter, easily supporting her weight, she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and kissed him greedily. She’d expected him to carry her to the bedroom, or at least to the couch, but he surprised her by simply turning and laying her out on the table. 

Apparently he’d just wanted better access, because he leaned over her and lowered his head to fasten on her breast, right through her top. The tank she was wearing was meant for exercising and had built in support, so she hadn’t bothered with a bra, and Natasha could feel the warmth of his mouth against her right through the thin fabric. She cried out and arched up, one hand lifting to tangle in his hair, holding him in place. 

Not that she needed to, since he seemed to have no intention of letting up any time soon. He flicked her rapidly tightening nipple with his tongue, then bit gently on the turgid flesh. When he closed his mouth around her and sucked hard, Natasha felt her pulse skyrocket, and wetness gather between her thighs, where he was still rocking slowly against her.

“Like that?” Steve asked as he lifted his head. He sounded a little smug, but when Natasha met his eyes she saw a genuine question there, as well. He was making sure she really did like it - as if the way she’d been moaning wasn’t a big enough clue. Still, it touched her that he was checking. He’d apparently taken ‘consent is sexy’ to heart, although she had a feeling it was less about women’s rights campaigning and more about his natural desire to please his partner.

Since he seemed to be waiting for an answer, Natasha somehow dredged up the brainpower to be coherent. “Fishing for compliments now? Trust me, you’re doing just fine. Although I might start getting cranky if you don’t stop _teasing_ me.”

The slow smile that spread over his face had nothing to do with his usual boyish charm, and everything to do with the wicked heat that burned in his eyes. “Oh, we’re just getting started, sweetheart. This is only the pre-show. I’ve had all week to think about the things I want to do to you.”

Hooking his fingers in the waist of her shorts, he raised an eyebrow in a silent request for permission. Breathlessly, Natasha nodded, not even caring that they were in full view of the back windows. Let the neighbours get a show, she didn’t care. Though Steve might, when he came back to his senses in the morning.

Right now he clearly didn’t give a fuck, because he tugged her shorts gently but relentlessly down over her hips. He paused briefly when he got low enough to be sure she wasn’t wearing anything beneath them, and she saw him inhale sharply, his gaze fixed on her neatly trimmed curls. 

When he did finally glance up at her, she gave him a sly little smile. “I might have been planning a bit of a campaign to get you to finally give in tonight. I wanted as few barriers between us as possible.”

“ _Fuck_ , Nat,” he groaned. Profanity was always a sure sign he was losing patience, but this time it wasn’t anger that was testing his control. That seemed only fair, considering the way he’d been pushing her limits all damned week.

Wanting to feel him against her skin to skin at last, she reached for the drawstring on his pants. To her surprise, he caught her hands in one of his and gently pushed them aside. “ _Steve_ ,” she said, his name coming out hoarse. Speaking of pushing her limits.

“Not yet,” he insisted. “Don’t worry doll, we’ve got all night. Unless you’ve got somewhere you’re in a hurry to be?”

“Yes. Riding your cock,” she retorted, and he gave a tight laugh that was nearly a groan. His hand clenched on hers, almost to the point of pain, and she raised a speculative eyebrow. So he liked dirty talk, did he? 

“Steve,” she coaxed, lowering her voice to what she knew was a seductive purr. “Please, I want you inside me. I want that big, hard dick of yours pounding me raw...”

“Hey.” His voice was sharp, startling her, but he softened his tone as soon as he saw he had her attention. “None of that. You promised; no lies, no acts. I want your real reactions, Natasha.”

“What makes you think that wasn’t a real demand,” she said, but she knew he was right. She’d been trying to manipulate him, give him what he wanted to hear. “You realize if I’m not allowed to do anything just because I think you’ll enjoy it, this is going to be very one-sided.”

“You’ll get your chance,” he promised her. “Right now it’s my turn.” With one hard tug he pulled the shorts the rest of the way off her, and she shivered as the chill air of the kitchen met the wetness of her core.

Then he grabbed her hips and pulled her ass right to the edge of the table, sinking to his knees in the same motion, and she understood what he was after. He was tall enough and the table was just the right height to let him comfortably put his mouth on her. She shuddered and moaned, but still he didn’t go in for the kill.

No, the damned cunt-tease dropped light little kisses along her inner thighs, nipping and licking at the spots that made her moan. His thumbs skated along the outside of her mound, dipping through the curls but not pressing far enough to find her center. When he reached the top, he shifted his hands closer to the middle and dragged them back down again, and this time his thumbs parted the edges of her lips to tease at the delicate flesh beneath. 

Natasha cried out and bucked her hips up, struggling to get his fingers where she needed them. He pressed in enough to just rub the edge of her entrance, then moved back up again, one torturous inch at a time. When he stopped his thumbs were pressed on either side of her clit, and his fingers parted her lips to expose her fully to the air.

The heat of his mouth was shocking when he finally leaned in to drag his tongue over the same path his thumbs had taken. When he reached her clit he teased it like he had her nipple, lapping at it like a cat with just the tip of his tongue.

Even though he shouldn’t have had much leverage from this position, Steve was strong enough that he was able to keep her hips pinned when she tried to writhe to get more stimulation. “Bastard,” Natasha accused him when he refused to lick harder or faster. “I see you’ve obviously discovered the true purpose of the internet.”

“Mmm?” The questioning noise he made vibrated against her, making Natasha moan and momentarily lose her train of thought.

He shifted his hands again, nudging at her thighs to make her spread them wider, and slid one finger down to tease at her entrance. Breathless, Natasha tried again to rock into the contact, and again he held her in place with seemingly no effort.

Then he _stopped_ , the asshole, lifted his mouth right off her in order to look up at her. “What’s the true purpose of the internet, and why are you thinking about it _now_?”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha fisted a hand in his hair and tugged sharply. “Pornography,” she told him, and startled a laugh out of him. “Then again, none of the porn I’ve ever seen had the guy performing nearly this well. So where did you learn?”

“A true gentleman never kisses and tells,” Steve told her, and there was definitely a note of smugness beneath his fake prim tone. But he brought his tongue back to her clit, and pressed hard enough to give her some real stimulation this time, so she decided she’d forgive him a little conceit.

With the hand in his hair Natasha was able to guide him, and he readily followed every signal she gave him, which was more than she could say for most of the guys who’d ever gone down on her. She’d never found it easy to reach orgasm without both penetration and clitoral stimulation, but he was so damned attentive that she found she was straining for the peak in minutes.

Straining for it, but not quite reaching it. “More,” she begged him, not even caring that she sounded desperate. “Steve, please, more, I need you inside me, please I can’t, oh god.” She was half afraid he’d stop to scold her again, but this pleading wasn’t about manipulating him, just about conveying her very real need. Some of it might have been coming out in Russian, but hopefully he’d get the idea. 

He scraped the edge of his teeth against her swollen flesh, making her cry out. Then he pressed his lips tight against her, caught her clit against his tongue, and sucked hard. At the same moment the finger that had been teasing her entrance finally sank inside, and the combination was just enough to push her over the edge.

Fling her over it, more like. She might have screamed, but she was too lost to sensation to be sure, or even to care. He finally eased his hold on her hips, and let her buck against him any way she wanted, keeping his tongue against her clit so she could ride out the orgasm with as much pressure as she liked.

Finally the overstimulation was too much to bear, and she squirmed away from him. He pushed himself back to his feet and slipped his arms around her waist, gathering her up into a sitting position. Well, holding her more or less in a sitting position. Her muscles were too limp to support her, and all she could do was lean her head against his shoulder and gasp.

“Worth the wait?” he asked, and once again she could hear a touch of real anxiety in his voice, like he wasn’t sure what the answer was. The women he’d slept with in the past must have been utterly selfish asshats, if they hadn’t made it clear how very much they’d enjoyed his attentions.

Then again, maybe they’d just been too wrung out to vocalize it. Natasha couldn’t manage much beyond a satisfied hum herself, though she did eventually find the energy to lift her hands and clutch at his shoulders. 

Her sentiment must have gotten through, because he relaxed slightly and chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. Don’t tell me you’re done already?”

“Just... give me... a damn... minute,” Natasha got out. Her whole body was still pulsing with the aftermath of one of the best orgasms of her life. Knowing there was more to come made her groin clench with a sharp ache of emptiness, and she moaned at the thought of him filling her at last.

“Take all the time you want,” Steve said, cradling her against his chest, one big hand cupping the back of her head with his fingers threaded through her hair. He slipped the other arm beneath her ass and hiked her up against him, lifting her easily off the table. Natasha wound her legs around his waist again, and this time he fulfilled her initial expectations and carried her to the bedroom.

He laid her out on the bed, his hands exquisitely gentle as he ran them over her body. When he tugged at the hem of her tank, she squirmed and lifted her arms to help him get it over her head, leaving her body bare to his gaze.

The way he looked at her was... yeah, the only descriptions coming to mind were words like ‘worshipful’ or ‘reverent’, and that just sounded too egotistic even for her. The heat of his gaze was almost palpable as he scanned down the length of her body. Her scars didn’t bother him, of course; he was the type to see them as badges of honour, not disfigurements. Likewise, he probably thought her muscles were athletic, not unladylike. And Steve being Steve, he had no idea how rare it was to find a guy who truly thought that way.

“You’re making me feel underdressed, here,” she complained, reaching to tug at his waistband. “Don’t I get a free show?”

With a smile he backed off, and yanked his t-shirt over his head with one tug at the back of the neck. Natasha took a moment to admire the sculpted planes of his chest before he dropped his hands to his sweats and shucked them as well.

“God damn.” Natasha didn’t even realize she’d spoken aloud until she saw the faint hint of a blush sweep over his cheeks and right down to his chest. Not that she was really looking any higher than the waist. 

He didn’t have the biggest dick she’d ever seen, or the thickest, but it was... definitely proportional to the rest of him. And just as attractive, flushed red from trapped blood, leaking precome at the tip. He also wasn’t circumcised, which surprised and delighted her. She’d gotten used to how much more common it was for men to be cut here in America, but she liked it better when they weren’t.

She half expected him to cover himself in embarrassment, but although his hand did drop, he just cupped his fingers around his balls, like he was showcasing himself. “Like what you see?” he teased her, and she was pretty sure he was deliberately copying her tone when she’d asked the same thing on their first night here.

“I’d rather feel it than see it.” Natasha cocked an eyebrow at him and propped herself up on one elbow, licking her lips since that had seemed to turn him on earlier. Sure enough he groaned again and she could see his cock jump in anticipation, which made it pretty clear exactly where he wanted her lips to be.

More than happy to oblige him, Natasha rolled up onto her knees at the edge of the bed, and heard the way he caught his breath as she drew near him. She scratched the nails of one hand down his inner thigh, feeling the way his legs were already trembling subtly. He might seem to be in control of himself, but he was hanging by a thread.

Slowly she drew her hand up the length of his cock, more careful with her nails this time. His fingers twined through her hair and tugged sharply, urging her forward, and she wrapped her lips around the first few inches of him. Deciding payback was only fair, she eased his foreskin back with her fingers, then flicked her tongue against the salty slit of him the same way he’d played with her nipple and her clit.

The teasing seemed to have pretty much the same effect on him as it had on her; he sucked in a sharp breath and went rigid, hand clenching in her hair tight enough to hurt a little. She sank down to take as much of him as she easily could, then drew back until she’d almost pulled off him completely. With her lips sealed around his glans, she sucked hard, and he groaned as his knees buckled.

He kept himself from falling on her, but only barely. She heard something crack, and when she pulled back he was holding a piece of the headboard in one hand. Seeing that she was looking, he gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“Hey, I take it as a compliment.” She smiled back at him, then tugged at his length before crawling backwards on the bed, sprawling out in a clear invitation for him to join her.

“What about protection?” he asked, leaning over her but not yet completely joining her on the bed. “Shouldn’t we use a condom or something?”

“Depends,” Natasha told him, shrugging. “I know I’m clean, and I can’t get pregnant, one hundred percent certainty. So, unless you’ve got something you don’t want to share...?” 

He didn’t hesitate a moment longer, sliding into place over her body, his hips between her thighs and cock just nudging her entrance. Moaning, she spread her legs wider to welcome him, but he refused to move forward even when she dug her nails into his shoulders.

No, the bastard just smiled and leaned down to suck at her nipple again, and every nip of his teeth and flick of his tongue seemed to strum a chord on a line that was drawn tight between her breasts and her clit. Rocking her hips up, Natasha rubbed herself on his length again, an action that was simultaneously more satisfying and more frustrating than doing it when they were clothed.

“Steve, I swear to god, if you don’t fuck me in the next ten seconds I’m going to rake bloody furrows down your back.” Natasha writhed against him as he bit harder on her nipple in response, and belatedly realized that the faint whimpering noises she could hear were coming from her. “Five seconds, don’t think I’m bluffing.”

Apparently he wasn’t taking her seriously, because he only lifted his head enough to chuckle at her. “Demanding, aren’t you? Lucky for you I think pushy broads are sexy... ow! Natasha!”

“I warned you.” She narrowed her eyes at him and flexed her fingers a little more for emphasis. “Unless you’re into pain, in which case you should have given me a chance to break out the whips and chains before we started.”

“That would be less disturbing if I wasn’t half certain it means you _have_ whips and chains packed somewhere,” he muttered, drawing a laugh from her despite herself.

The laugh turned into a moan somewhere in the middle as he finally thrust forward, his hips snapping into hers with enough force to push her up on the mattress. She had to lift her hands to brace against the headboard as he thrust again and again, a slow but steady pace that rocked the bed hard enough to bang it against the wall.

He was big enough to fill her completely, even stretch her a little, and every time his flesh dragged against her inner walls it sent tiny shocks racing over Natasha’s nerves. Especially when he caught her hips in his hands and lifted her, changing his angle so he was pushing against her g-spot with every damned thrust. Best of all, he didn’t jack-hammer away at her, but took his time and built the rhythm slowly, letting her feel each motion like its own caress.

It might not have been the best sex she’d ever had, but in that moment Natasha would have been hard put to name anyone who’d been better. He was certainly one of the best at driving her slowly out of her mind, ramping the heat up and up until Natasha could feel the tension in her body like a tightly-strung wire, begging to be snapped.

He shifted, curling into her so he could get his mouth on her breast again, and she cried out sharply as she arched into him. “Steve!”

“That’s it,” he panted against her skin, his voice hoarse with desire and effort. “C’mon, Natasha, tell me what you like.”

That would have been much easier if she could form coherent sentences, but it felt like her brain was shorting out with the overwhelming pleasure. She was gasping for air, her heels dug into his thighs as she rocked in counterpoint to his thrusts, every nerve in her body humming.

But as good as it was, she knew it wasn’t going to be enough for her to reach the peak, not after he’d gotten her off so thoroughly once already. He’d picked up the pace a little, slamming into her fast and hard enough that she could feel his balls nudging at her at the deepest point of his thrusts. The tension in his body was at least equal to hers, and that meant he was probably going to come soon. She’d lose the delicious friction, and while she had no doubt he would happily finish her off after, she wanted to come with him inside her.

Lifting his head from her breast, he trailed his mouth up the side of her neck and bit at her earlobe, his breathing harsh in her ear. “Touch yourself, Nat,” he murmured, surprising her. “Please? Show me how you like it. I want to feel you squeeze around me.”

A guy who knew how to go down on a woman, _and_ wasn’t threatened by not being able to make her come with the sheer prowess of his dick? They must be ice skating in hell tonight. He really was too damned good to be true. Why the hell had she let him talk her out of seducing him the first night? They could have been doing this all week.

Dropping one arm, she slipped her hand between them. She couldn’t resist exploring a little as she went, tweaking his nipple to make him shudder, and skating her nails over the toned muscles in his abs. Her own desire didn’t let her linger long, however, and she pushed her hand lower until she found where the length of him drove in and out of her.

Steve shouted when her fingers brushed him, hands tensing on her hips with bruising strength. Lost in the heat between them, she hardly noticed it except as one more source of stimulation. She dipped low enough to tease at his balls, hearing the way he hissed in a breath through his teeth as he fought to keep control. Knowing he was so close, that _she_ had pushed him right to the edge, was a turn on in and of itself.

If she wanted to get off before he did, though, she could tell she needed to stop playing around. She slipped her fingers back up, brushing against the flesh of her entrance, swollen by the steady pumping of his cock, then caught her clitoris with two fingers and rolled it between them. 

It felt like her heart was pounding in time with his thrusts, each one shaking her to her core. With her fingers rubbing little circles around and over her clit, pleasure rushed up on her so fast she barely had a chance to feel it coming. The first wave of orgasm slammed into her, clenching her body hard around Steve’s cock. She thought she heard him cursing again, but the sense of the words was lost in the haze of ecstasy sweeping Natasha along.

It went on and on, until she could barely draw a breath and her whole body ached with it. She pulled her hand away, and Steve thrusting within her was enough to keep the sharp edge of orgasm going for another few moments before it finally began to fade.

Soon after, his rhythm began to falter. He pushed hard inside her and stilled, and she could feel the burst of heat as he emptied himself inside her. Deliberately, she clenched her inner muscles again and held them tight, startling an appreciative groan from him.

Finally he collapsed over her, braced just enough with his elbows on either side of her shoulders that he wouldn’t crush her. He was panting and sweating hard, but so was Natasha, so she figured they were pretty even.

When he slipped out of her, she couldn’t stop herself from moaning with the loss. She felt empty and aching, but also thoroughly satisfied, her sensitive flesh still pulsing every so often with aftershocks of pleasure.

Murmuring soft endearments, Steve settled himself beside her and gathered her close, twining their legs and wrapping his arms securely around her. Normally Natasha wasn’t all that much for cuddling, but he’d gotten her addicted to the feel of him against her over the last week. Besides, she was limp again, unable to move until her nerves finally stopped singing and reconnected themselves properly, and he was nice and warm.

“Natasha?” Steve sounded startled and a little dismayed, which made Natasha blink. What could he _possibly_ be upset about? “You’re crying.”

“Am I?” She couldn’t even muster the energy to lift a hand and check, but she did manage to shrug. Slightly. “Tears of joy, I guess. You definitely had me sobbing with pleasure at the end there, I just didn’t think it would be literal.”

“All right, then.” He relaxed again, and his voice was just this side of a purr when he spoke again. “I guess that means you don’t think I need practice at this, too?”

She chuckled, and shook her head against his shoulder. “Everyone needs practice, Steve. Though admittedly, if that was you when you’re out of practice, you might just kill the poor girl you get better with.”

Shifting to situate herself more comfortably, she made a vague gesture towards the foot of the bed. He apparently interpreted it correctly, because he leaned over long enough to grab the blanket there and pull it up over them. 

“I do know one thing for sure,” she said as he settled the blanket in place.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You were right that if we’d done that the first night, we wouldn’t have done a damned thing else all week.”

It was his turn to laugh, the sound of it rumbling in his chest beneath her ear. “I did warn you. God knows it was hard enough to think about anything else as it was. Mind if I stay here for tonight?”

She didn’t have the energy to lift her head, or punch him, so she settled for a sharp pinch on his side, hard enough to make him flinch a little. “Steve, if you try to move one inch from this bed, I will stun you and drag you back. I’m enjoying every minute of this. Besides, it means you’re conveniently accessible for a second round in the morning.”

Unspoken between them was the knowledge that a second round was all they’d have time for, because they had a flight to catch back to DC in the afternoon. The fairy tale week was over, and because this was real life, there were no ‘happily ever afters’. 

Natasha just hoped this didn’t turn out to be a Brothers Grimm version, because those rarely ended as pleasantly as the Disney ones.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note for those finding the story now, that this was written pre-AoU and the revelations about Clint's home life, lol. I keep debating whether I should change it or not.

At the last minute Natasha changed her mind, and lied about the flights she’d booked. The prohibition against her lying to him had only been while they were pretending, right? She didn’t think spending another five hours together in close quarters was going to be a good way to end this week. Better to part now, cleanly, and the next time they saw each other they’d have moved on and relegated this to the status of a fond memory.

Thankfully Steve accepted her explanation that she was flying elsewhere readily enough. Even better, although he was clearly disappointed that he’d be making the trip back alone, he wasn’t overly distraught about being separated from her. 

“Well, I guess my worries that I’d end up leading you on and breaking your heart were for nothing,” she dared to tease him as they approached the gate for his flight. “Doesn’t even seem like you’re going to miss me that much.”

The smile he gave her in return was rueful, and he lifted one hand to touch her cheek briefly in a gesture that could only be described as tender. “I’m handling it. I’m a big boy, Natasha, and I knew the score when I agreed to this.”

So he’d fallen for her after all? Natasha pulled back, startled and a little dismayed. This was exactly what she hadn’t wanted to happen. “Steve...”

“It’s okay,” he insisted. “Really, I swear. It was a great week and I’m glad we got to do it. No regrets, right?”

Studying his eyes intently, Natasha tried to determine how truthful he was being. Normally with Steve, it wasn’t difficult to tell if he was being honest. He was quite possibly the worst liar she’d ever met. But if he thought lying was the best way to spare _her_... well, self-sacrifice _was_ something he was damned good at.

He didn’t try to hide from her scrutiny, his expression open and vulnerable. She could see some pain there, but not any kind of crushing heartbreak. If anything, he still seemed happier than he had been before they’d started all this. Sighing, she relaxed a little, and he smiled in return.

“See? Nothing to worry about.” He reached out, and she let him gather her up into a tight hug. She even hugged him back, her arms wound around his neck as she soaked up the feel of him against her. One last memory to add to the others, before she tucked them away in a safe place in her mind to be cherished later.

“I had fun,” she admitted, trying not to be reluctant as she stepped away. She felt cold without the heat of his body next to hers, and her hand seemed empty without his wrapped around it. “I’m glad things worked out the way they did... and I really am sorry about lying to you in the beginning.”

“Forgiven and forgotten.” He smiled, that beautiful, too-real smile she’d never seen before this week. She was afraid she might never see it again, and the thought was more distressing than it should have been. “I should go, looks like they’re almost done boarding. Take care of yourself, Natasha. If you need me, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “Same to you, Steve.” Part of her wanted to say something else, but she clenched her teeth on the impulse. What would she say? ‘I care about you’ would be too weak after the time they’d just spent together. ‘I don’t want it to be over’ would be a pathetic cry for attention. ‘I love you’ would be a lie, and that was the one thing she wouldn’t lie to him about.

In the end she just turned away, waving over her shoulder in case he was still looking, and headed for her own gate. The fairy tale was over, and it was time for her to wake up and get back to work.

* * *

Nothing seemed able to occupy her attention for long. Natasha found she was distracted, picking up a task and getting halfway through it, then moving on to the next thing without finishing the first. It was lucky she wasn’t really working at the moment, or she might have gotten herself killed with her inattention. 

Every time she turned around, she expected to see Steve there. She’d become accustomed to his presence, to the space he took up in a room, and now everywhere she went seemed empty and lonely. She kept making little mental notes of things she wanted to show him or say to him, only to discard them a moment later because they were irrelevant. And no matter how high she turned up the temperature she couldn’t seem to get warm enough at night without his furnace of a body next to her.

If she was being honest with herself, it was terrifying how easily he’d worked his way past her defenses, inserting himself seamlessly into her life until nothing felt right without him there.

After the third utterly sleepless night spent lying in bed staring up at her ceiling, Natasha finally gave up. Grabbing one of the pre-packed travel bags she kept handy in case she needed to leave in a hurry, she slammed out of her apartment and headed for the airport. Sitting around brooding wasn’t getting her anywhere, and anyway that was really more Steve’s thing than hers. Obviously, she needed some company and a distraction, and there was one person she could always count on.

Clint was mildly surprised when she turned up at his door, but waved her in without any questions. He knew her well enough to know she’d talk about what was bothering her if she wanted to, and if not, wild horses wouldn’t drag it out of her. He was the same, after all, and it wasn’t the first time one of them had turned to the other for something like this.

Well, maybe not something _quite_ like this.

She hauled him pretty much straight to bed, trying to use the familiar taste and feel of his body to drive out the memories that were haunting her. It felt good; they were comfortable enough with each other that there was no way it would ever be _bad_ between them. But ‘good’ didn’t begin to compare to how amazing she’d felt when it was Steve’s hands on her, Steve’s body in hers. It wasn’t that Steve was a better lover than Clint, not when Clint knew every hot spot she had. So why?

At least he did wring her out enough that she finally slept. Or maybe it was just the feel of him against her that let her mind fool itself into thinking she was back in that little house on the other side of the country. Back where, for perhaps the first time in her life, she’d been truly _happy_. Was that why she couldn’t let go of it?

For almost a month she hung out with Clint. He was tracking several of the escapees from the Fridge who had been released when Hydra took over the facility, and she helped him run down and deal with two of them. They’d always made an amazing team, and it felt good to be working towards something she knew was right.

Steve called her twice. Natasha answered both times, of course, because she wasn’t some juvenile schoolgirl avoiding talking to her crush. They were professionals, and if he’d been calling because he needed her help and he’d gotten hurt because she didn’t pick up, she’d never have forgiven herself. But he was just checking in, making sure she was still alive and letting her know he was, too. It was something he’d started doing since the fall of Shield, knowing that otherwise someone might not notice if she went missing until it was too late.

She kept the calls perfunctory but friendly, pretty much the same as always, and told herself she was glad nothing had changed between them.

Finally things came to a head on a quiet night at Clint’s place. They were sitting on the floor in his living room, drinking beer and going over their equipment. Now that they no longer had Shield’s resources to call on, they had to be more frugal and careful with their gear, repairing what they could and replacing what they couldn’t live without from their own savings. Natasha was helping him re-fletch his arrows, a task meticulous enough to demand her full attention and therefore wonderfully distracting.

“You might as well just admit it, you know.”

The sound of Clint’s voice broke her concentration, and startled her. Natasha’s hand jerked, dragging the glue-covered vane she’d been about to apply sideways and smearing the fletching glue all over the jig. Cursing, she dropped the now ruined plastic vane and snatched a tissue out of a nearby box, scrubbing at the glue on the shaft before it could set. “Damn it, Clint, do you want these arrows fletched properly or not? It’s your ass on the line if your shot doesn’t go straight.”

Unruffled by her ire, Clint just raised an eyebrow from where he sat across the low table tinkering with one of his explosive arrowheads. “Don’t avoid the issue, Nat. It won’t work on me. I know your tricks better than anybody.”

“Admit what, that I suck at fletching? I thought I was doing okay. At least, before you jogged my elbow.” Natasha tried to return her attention to her task, but her hands were shaking. Just slightly, but it was enough that if she tried to apply the glue to the next shaft, she’d get it onto the plastic and wreck the vane again.

“Seriously? You’re going to try to worm your way out of this? With _me_?” Clint stared at her flatly, and Natasha deftly avoided meeting his eyes, until he finally sighed. “Admit you’re in love with him.”

The words jolted through her like she’d touched a live wire, and it was all she could do not to wince. “Hey, now, there’s no call to start slinging four-letter words around,” she protested, struggling to keep her voice light. “That’s just rude.”

She didn’t realize how tightly she was clutching the vane until Clint’s hand covered hers, gently prying her fingers open from around the mangled plastic. “Nat, you’re not doing anybody any favours, denying it like this.”

Embarrassment turned abruptly to anger, and Natasha flushed as she yanked her hand back and finally met his gaze head on. “What the hell would you even know about it? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Rogers phoned me in the middle of the night, about a month ago.” Clint didn’t flinch from her anger, just kept staring at her with the focus of the raptor he took his codename from. “Told me what you’d pulled on him. I helped him get some perspective on it, worked out a few strategies for handling it without turning everything into a mess for both of you. So yeah, I’ve got some idea what’s going on.”

Now anger was joined by the sting of betrayal. They’d been talking about her behind her back? Strategizing about how to _handle_ her?

“He also called me a couple of days ago,” Clint continued relentlessly. “He’s worried he fucked it up, pissed you off or got too clingy. I told him not to stress about it, but it made me realize that if you’ve been dragging around this whole time with no improvement, you’re obviously not gonna shake yourself out of it without a push. So, here’s a push. You’re in love with him. What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t believe in love, you know that,” she snapped, trying not to show how much his words rattled her. Steve thought he’d fucked things up between them? How had she given herself away? She hadn’t changed how she interacted with him in any way she could see. Well, she hadn’t called _him_ , and although she often did text or email him just to force him to get comfortable with that sort of communication, she hadn’t sent anything since that week. Still, she’d gone months without reaching out to him before.

“You might not, but he does,” Clint said, shrugging. He finally blinked and broke the intense eye contact, leaning back against the couch, but he was still watching her. “And I have to tell you, Natasha, you’ve sure been _acting_ like you’re mooning over him. I’ve never seen you so distracted, and you haven’t spent this much time with me at a stretch in ages. I’m not complaining... except I kinda am, because it’s a little fucked up being with you knowing I’m standing in as a substitute. You’re lucky I’m not easily insulted.”

It honestly hadn’t occurred to her that Clint might feel put out that she was using him. They both used each other all the time, that was pretty much the basis of their friendship - it might be fucked up, but it worked for them, and Natasha wasn’t about to ditch one of the few truly good things in her life because other people might think they were messed in the head.

“All right, fine. I’ll call Rogers...” Glancing at the clock, Natasha grimaced and changed her mind. “Tomorrow. No point in waking him up.”

“Uh-huh.” Clint looked unimpressed by her declaration. “And tell him what, exactly?”

“That he hasn’t messed up, obviously.” Picking up the next vane, she eyed it to make certain it was straight, then reached for the fletching glue again.

“Did you lose a couple dozen IQ points lately? You’re deliberately missing the point,” Clint told her, rolling his eyes.

“What? Am I cramping your style?” Natasha rolled her eyes right back at him. “If you want me gone, you know all you have to do is say so.”

“ _Natasha_.”

“I’m not in love with him!” Glaring at Clint over the table, Natasha tried to sort through all the conflicting things she was feeling, struggling for the right words to explain. “I just got used to having him around, that’s all.”

“You’ve spent a month with me, and you won’t give me a second thought when you finally leave,” Clint retorted. “But you spend a week with him playing house and suddenly that’s something you have to recover from? You were already in love with him, Nat. You didn’t pull that whole insane stunt because you wanted to find out what it would be like to be normal. You wanted to find out what it would be like to be normal _with him_.”

“I never...” she started, but he ploughed right over top of her, refusing to let her get a word in.

“You wanted to know what it would be like to have him love you, because you assumed your imagination was running away with you and the reality of it would be tedious and boring. You figured you could get it out of your system and stop _thinking_ about it if you just tried it out and realized you didn’t even like it that much.”

Pressing her lips together, Natasha shook her head, but her hands were trembling again. She dropped her work and clutched at the edge of the table, trying to steady them and find an anchor to hold on to at the same time. Clint’s words stabbed at her like he was shooting her full of arrows. And he wasn’t done yet.

“The problem is, it was _better_ than what you thought it would be, you liked it so much it scared the shit out of you, and the worst part is knowing that _you could have it all_ if you just went to him and told him you wanted it.” He narrowed his eyes, and leaned in for the kill. “So you’ve been avoiding him, because you’re afraid if you let yourself feel anything at all around him, you’ll break down and say something you can’t take back. Tell me if I’m getting warm here, Nat.”

“You’re frozen colder than Rogers was, buried in the ice,” she told him, but her voice was trembling just as bad as her hands had been. 

“What exactly are you so afraid of?”

Now that was a loaded question. She couldn’t even deny that she _was_ afraid, because every signal her body was giving screamed her fear to the heavens, and Clint knew how to read her better than anybody. 

“Everything,” she finally whispered, through lips that felt numb.

Apparently she’d closed her eyes at some point, because she was startled when she felt Clint settle in next to her. He didn’t hug her, but he did lean against her, shoulder to shoulder, offering her the same support he always had. He was the one who’d given her a chance to make something better of herself, and he’d been there supporting her with every step she’d taken through hell to get to where she was now. 

Turning her head, she rested it against his shoulder, feeling the worst of her tremors calming as her heart rate slowed. “I’d fuck it up. I can’t be what he wants, not long term, not without faking it, and that would only hurt him more.”

“Bullshit, Nat.” The words were harsh, but Clint’s tone was gentle beneath the gruffness. “It’s not him you’re worried about hurting, it’s yourself. You think if you let yourself want him and it doesn’t work out, it’ll hurt too much, so you’re doing the chickenshit thing and evading it instead.”

There was truth in his words, and Natasha had to admit it. “If you don’t have something, you can’t lose it. It can’t be taken from you.” The thought of losing Steve made her chest hurt, so bad she had to bite her lip for a moment to keep from making a pained sound. “Love is a child’s game precisely because it requires an innocent belief that everything will work out for the best in the end. That if you make yourself vulnerable, the universe will reward you, not stab you straight through the chink in your armour. I lost that kind of innocence before I even knew what it was.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here, with me?” Clint demanded, surprising her into looking up at him. “You wear a fucking arrow around your neck to keep me close to you, Natasha. You dropped everything and came running when Coulson told you I’d been compromised. The moment you were upset, you turned to me for comfort. We just don’t call it love because we’re both too damned cynical for our own good, and you know it.”

His words made her throat close up. He was right and she did know it, but... that was _different_. Clint knew the worst of what she was, believed in the best she could be, and accepted all of her. They made it work because they were so similar, even though it was the same reason they’d never be anything more serious to each other than partners with benefits. 

And because they’d never be anything more than that to each other, it might hurt Natasha to lose Clint, might even be agonizing, but it wouldn’t destroy her. Steve... Steve would never settle for half measures. If she wanted to be with him she’d have to give him everything, and that meant there would be nothing left of her if he was gone.

“There’s an important factor here you’re overlooking, you know.” Giving her a smile that held very little mirth, Clint lifted a hand and stroked over her hair, almost petting her. “You’re avoiding him so you won’t end up in pain, but Nat, I’ve never seen you hurting more than you are right now. You pushed yourself over the edge with that stunt last month, and now you can’t shut the feelings out any more. I know you’ve got a lot of things to regret already. Don’t let this be the thing you regret most when you look back on your life.”

“I...” Nothing else could make it out past the lump in her throat. Natasha swallowed hard, but it didn’t seem to help at all.

Sighing, Clint hugged her briefly. “When you ditched the KGB for Shield, you knew it was the biggest risk you’d ever taken. If they’d caught you, if they _ever_ catch you, death would be a mercy. It was probably the stupidest decision you ever made, from the point of view of protecting yourself. So why’d you do it?”

“Because I had to,” she admitted hoarsely. “I couldn’t live like that anymore. I just thought I didn’t have any other options, until you gave me a chance.”

“Was it worth it? Would you do it again, knowing what you know now?”

“In a heartbeat.” Natasha surprised herself with her own answer. When she’d found out that Hydra was running Shield, she’d felt like it meant she’d never really changed sides at all. She’d been trying to do good, and ended up only helping to push the world to the brink of disaster. Knowing that, wouldn’t it be smarter to have stayed with the KGB?

But if she’d stayed, she’d never have found out what it was like to have people she could count on. She’d never have learned how to make her own choices. She’d never have discovered how damned _good_ it could feel, doing something you believed was truly right.

And she’d never have met Steve.

Going to him would be a mistake every bit as monumental as leaving the KGB had been, from a logical standpoint. It meant opening herself up to the risk of emotional torture and heartbreak, and knowing with every step she took that it could end in utter disaster and she’d be worse off than when she’d started.

But there was the tiny chance it could work out. That she’d discover a whole new realm of possibilities, and look back on her decision one day knowing she could never have lived with any other choice.

Just as Clint had back then, Steve was offering her a chance to leave her old life behind and build something better. If only she had the courage to tell sanity to go fuck itself.

“What do I do?” Natasha hated the way her voice came out small, almost like the child she felt she needed to be in order to believe this had any chance in hell of working. Uncertainty was not a look she wore well, and she didn’t much like the feeling of it.

“Go to him, you fucking idiot,” Clint said, smacking her on the back of the head with obvious exasperation. “Maybe it’ll work out, maybe it won’t, but you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t at least try.”

Now she just had to hope she hadn’t used up all of a lifetime’s worth of luck when she’d survived the decision to defect to Shield. Could lightning strike twice? Would she really be that lucky?

Natasha was only certain of one thing. This was probably the only chance she’d ever have, and Clint was right that she had to take it.


	9. Chapter 9

If this really had been a children’s story, Natasha would have charged right up to the dragon’s den and slain the monster of her own fear without hesitation. She’d have done it with her signature flair, confident and smooth. She’d had powerful world leaders and dangerous criminal masterminds wrapped around her finger, and she already knew Steve was at least a little in love with her. How hard could it be to admit she might like him back?

Harder than she’d ever imagined, apparently. It took her two days and three tries before she even got as far as knocking on his door, and her heart was racing so hard it seemed like he’d surely hear that before the knocking.

This time when he opened the door, recognition lit up his eyes immediately. “Natasha!” He sounded surprised but not displeased to see her, and readily swung open the door to invite her in. “What can I do for you?” He smiled at her; not the bright, open expression she’d (fallen in love with) come to appreciate, but a sly smirk that invited her to join in his amusement. “Is this about a mission, or a ‘mission’?”

“Did you seriously just make air quotes at me?” Natasha had to laugh despite herself as she walked past him into the apartment, though the sound came out a little strained. “We’ll make a modern man out of you yet.”

“So you keep threatening me.” He gestured for her to take a seat on the couch. “Can I get you anything?”

“Beer would be great if you have it, or a soda if not.” Anything to put this conversation off for another few minutes. Maybe she’d talk some sense into herself, make up a bullshit reason for her to have come over, and make her escape before she committed herself to insanity.

It was hard to tell if Steve had been affected by their time together, or by her absence since. He looked weary, like he’d been brooding, but then she knew he’d never slept well since they’d found him in the ice. Natasha imagined he probably had some pretty nasty nightmares, though he’d seemed to take some comfort in having her near when he slept, just as she had with him. He was perhaps more friendly than usual, or maybe just more comfortable with her on a personal level, but that didn’t mean he’d been pining over her.

This was a mistake. Natasha didn’t know why the hell she’d let Clint talk her into this, because it was a terrible idea. Maybe if she’d said something right at the start, before Steve had gotten on the plane back to D.C., it would have been different. But he’d clearly gotten over whatever infatuation he might have felt for her, and she was only going to make an idiot out of herself if she said anything to indicate she hadn’t done the same.

Distraught, she stood up to leave, and in her distraction caught her knee on the corner of a sketchbook that was poking over the edge of the coffee table. It landed on the ground, falling open, and Natasha was brought up short as she saw herself looking back at her from the pages. That wouldn’t have surprised her if it had been the drawing she’d volunteered to pose for, but this was another picture entirely.

It was a beautiful watercolour painting of her as she’d looked the night he’d taken her to the ballet. He’d caught the lush texture of her velvet gown and the way the red roses he’d given her matched her lipstick, but it was the expression he’d drawn on her face that truly held her attention.

She looked young and carefree. Happy. Not innocent, thank god, or she’d have been forced to assume he’d gone delusional on her. No, he’d actually managed to capture the weight of her experiences while still portraying the way that weight had seemed to lighten for a while when she was with him.

Fascinated despite herself, Natasha sank back down onto the couch, picking up the book and flipping through it. All of the most recent pages were filled with moments from their week together - quick pencil sketches, charcoal or pastel drawings, and a few watercolours here and there - but when she went back further, she found more images of her scattered among portraits of others. He’d let her look through his sketches before, and they’d mostly been landscapes and objects, so he must have set aside this book just for drawing people.

Probably so that when his friends asked to see his work, they wouldn’t see how often he was drawing them without their knowledge.

It looked like he’d been drawing her as long as he’d known her. Literally - there was a sketch of her when she’d asked him to boost her into the sky to catch a Chitauri flyer, full of ragged lines and blurred edges that perfectly conveyed the exhaustion and grim determination that lay beneath her flippant expression.

“Hey, I only have soda, so I thought I’d put some ice in... uh. Crap.”

The book held her attention so well it actually took her a moment to register what he was saying. When she looked up, his expression was caught somewhere between embarrassment and chagrin, with maybe a touch of shame mixed in for good measure. What on earth was he _ashamed_ of? 

Something about the way she looked seemed to concern him, because the embarrassment faded as he frowned back at her. Moving forward quickly, he sat next to her on the couch and set the glasses he carried down on the table, then lifted one hand to her cheek in the same gesture he’d used in the airport when saying goodbye. “Natasha? Are you okay? Look, I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have drawn you without permission, but I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Upset her? She blinked a couple of times to clear her vision, only realizing as she did it that it needed to be cleared because there were tears welling in her eyes. Not spilling over, mercifully, but enough that he’d clearly noticed the uncharacteristic emotion.

“They’re beautiful,” she admitted, her voice hoarse. “You did all these from memory?” No wonder the picture he’d done of her that week had been so good even though he’d done it quickly. He’d had plenty of practice at drawing her.

Awkwardly, Steve withdrew his hand and sat back to put some space between them, like he wasn’t certain of his welcome. “Well, yeah. Perfect recall, remember? Came with the serum, though I had a pretty good memory to start with.”

Of course, she’d forgotten. This was the man who could look at a map for thirty seconds and reproduce it with reasonable accuracy even if he wasn’t familiar with the territory it showed. Recalling images of people he knew would hardly be any challenge.

“Why me, though?” she wanted to know. “You’ve drawn me more often than everyone else combined.”

This time his embarrassment was tempered with exasperation. “Ask a stupid question, Nat. You’re a walking enigma, full of contradictions. I thought maybe if I could capture some of what I’d seen of you, I would come to understand you a little better.” He hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re one of the most gorgeous dames I’ve ever met.”

Plenty of men had called her gorgeous, or some variation on the theme. It had never really meant much to her. She knew she was beautiful, and she used it like the weapon it was. Somehow when he said it, the words seemed to have more impact. Maybe because in all these drawings he’d proven that he saw more than just the skin-deep beauty.

“Well, you have my permission to draw me as often as you like, then.” She flipped back to the picture the book had opened to, suggesting he’d either spent the most time working on it, or liked to go back and look at it. Too bad it hadn’t opened to the sketch he’d done of her in the lacy teddy. That would have been prime material for later teasing.

Running her fingers down the outside edge of the page, she couldn’t help but marvel at the image. It was hard to believe she could ever really look like that.

“Natasha? Not that I’m complaining about your company or anything, but why’d you come?” Steve gently tugged the book out of her hands, then closed it and placed it back on the coffee table. “I assume it wasn’t to admire my artwork.”

“I...” The moment of truth, and her voice froze before she could get more than the first word out. Blushing faintly, Natasha cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m sorry if I gave you the impression that I was upset with you after... last month. I needed some space to think, and I didn’t mean for that to spill over onto you. I thought I was doing a good job of not letting anything change between us, until Clint rubbed my nose in it.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to flush, and he scrubbed one hand along the side of his jeans, maybe wiping the sweat off his palm. “I thought I screwed up right at the end there, when I admitted you’d gotten to me. I never meant to put any pressure on you, I was just being honest.”

“I know,” she assured him. “You weren’t the one putting pressure on me. I was.”

Licking her lips, Natasha searched for the right words. Normally they came so easily to her - but normally the words she said were more lie than truth, and it was always easier to lie than to be honest. She so rarely showed this much of her true self, it was hard to remember how to open up. 

“I’ve missed you,” she managed to get out, not quite able to meet his eyes. “I had trouble sleeping alone again, and even now I keep feeling like if I just glance over my shoulder, you’ll be there. I thought I’d be getting it _out_ of my system if I spent a week with you, not piling obsession on top of infatuation.”

He went very still suddenly, and she thought she’d upset him. Finding the courage somewhere, she lifted her head and saw him looking back at her warily, but not as if he was hurt. More like a hunter afraid even the tiniest movement would spook his target into bolting. Hell, the analogy wasn’t all that far from the truth.

Swallowing, she forced herself to continue, even though she couldn’t seem to look away again now that she’d met his eyes. “I want to be with you. Long term. I don’t care if we move in together or only see each other a lot, I just want you around.”

It was as close as she could come to revealing her true emotions, but if she’d expected him to jump at the chance, she was doomed to disappointment. Although there was a cautious sort of hope in his eyes, the wariness remained predominant. 

“I... don’t know if I can do that without crossing the line, Natasha,” he said, his voice so quiet and intense it was almost a rumble. “Once in a while, maybe, but it’ll be harder for me to walk away and act like nothing’s changed every time. I’m already at least half in love with you.”

The confirmation that he felt, if not the same way she did, at least _something_ for her, made Natasha’s heart start to race. More than it already had been from nerves, anyway. Hell, Steve’s ‘halfway in love’ was probably a more passionate emotion than most people’s ‘madly in love’.

“You know I think love is a fairy tale,” Natasha started, still fumbling for the right words.

“Natasha...” Steve’s expression turned pained, and she could see the objections piling up behind his eyes. Reaching out, she hushed him by placing her finger over his lips.

“Let me finish, or I’m never going to get it all out,” she requested. When he nodded, she withdrew again, though she couldn’t resist trailing her fingertips along his jaw as she did.

“I think love is a fairy tale. But I guess I’ve realized, if gods and magic and aliens are all real...” She took a deep breath, and forced herself to say it. “Maybe fairy tales can be real, too.”

The sudden hope and joy that swept over his face was overwhelming. He caught her hands, squeezing gently, and she could feel that his were trembling as much as hers. “So does that mean... you’re willing to go the distance with this? I can’t do it half way, Nat.”

“I’m never going to be a good girlfriend,” she warned him, because he deserved the truth before he agreed to take her. “Not without pretending, and neither of us wants that. I might never be able to say the words you want to hear.”

“Words?” To her surprise, he laughed a little, and raised her hands to brush a kiss over her knuckles. “Words don’t mean a damned thing, doll. Anybody can toss words around. Actions are what matter. You’re willing to throw out your entire worldview to have a chance with me. How am I even supposed to match that?”

Just when she believed she was finally getting to know this man, he went and startled her again. She’d thought he would want all the sweet words and traditional nonsense that went with the idea of romance. Yet here he was, cutting right to the heart of the matter, and seeing her sincerity even when she sounded like she was already blowing him off.

“Well, when you put it that way.” She let him tug her closer until she was cuddled up against his side. He let go of her hands with one of his so he could slide his arm around her, and they settled back against the couch together. “Though I wouldn’t discount your actions too much. You spent a whole week pretending to be my husband and showering me with affection just because you thought I deserved it. That definitely counts for something.”

Sighing deeply as the familiar feel and scent of him wrapped around her, Natasha relaxed against him. “Just so you know,” she added in a murmur, “While I also appreciate actions, I wouldn’t mind if you used the words now and then.”

He caught her chin and tipped her face up, then leaned in for a kiss that might have been the sweetest embrace she’d ever experienced. Her breathing was ragged with more emotions than just lust when he finally pulled back and smiled down at her - and there it was, that beautiful, heartfelt grin she’d missed so much. “You might regret saying that. You’re gonna get sick of hearing it if you’re not careful. I love you, you crazy broad.”

The words felt like... like coming home. For the second time ever, Natasha dared to believe that there was a life out there better than the one she’d been living, and that she had a chance to take it if only she had the courage to try.

This time might even be better than the last.


End file.
